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SECTION  III 

THE   ENGLISH   DRAMA 

FROM    ITS    BEGINNING    TO    THE    PRESENT    DAY 


GENERAL    EDITOR 

GEORGE   PIERCE  BAKER,   A.  B. 

ASSISTANT    PROFESSOR    OF    ENGLISH 
IN    HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 


EASTWARD    HOE 

BY  JONSON,  CHAPMAN  AND   MARSTON 


JONSON'S 

THE  ALCHEMIST 

EDITED    BY 

FELIX   E.  SCHELLING,  Litt.  D. 

PROFESSOR    OF    ENGLISH    LITERATURE    IN    THE 
UNIVERSITY    OF    PENNSYLVANIA 


BOSTON,  U.  S.  A.  AND  LONDON 

D.   C.   HEATH  AND    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,    1903,    BY 
D.  C.  HEATH    &   CO. 


Printed  in  United  States  of  America 


! 


JLffC 


Ben  Jonson  was  born  at  Westminster  in  the  year  1573. 
He  was  "poorly  brought  up,"  but  by  the  assistance  of 
the  antiquary,  William  Camden,  attended  Westminster 
School.  Jonson  seems  not  to  have  gone  to  either  uni- 
versity, although  he  later  received  degrees  from  both  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge.  After  a  short  term  at  his  step- 
father's trade,  bricklaying,  Jonson  went  to  Flanders  as 
a  soldier.  He  returned  to  London  about  1592  and 
married,  beginning  to  write  for  the  stage  probably  in 
1595.  In  1597  Jonson  was  in  the  employ  of  Henslowe, 
and  one  of  the  Admiral's  players  ;  and  in  the  following 
year  he  was  mentioned  by  Meres,  in  his  Palladis  Tamia, 
as  one  of  the  best  contemporary  writers  of  tragedy.  In 
that  year  Jonson  killed  a  fellow-actor,  one  Gabriel 
Spenser,  "in  duel,"  for  which  he  was  tried  and  found 
guilty.  He  escaped  the  gallows  by  pleading  the  bene- 
fit of  clergy.  While  in  prison  Jonson  became  a  Roman 
Catholic,  but  returned  to  the  faith  of  the  Church  of 
England  twelve  years  later.  Thrown  out  of  the  Ad- 
miral's company  for  his  misdeed,  Jonson  offered  their 
rival,  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company  (in  which  Shake- 
speare was  already  a  prominent  shareholder),  his  Every 
Man  In  His  Humour,  which  was  accepted,  and  proved 
in  1598  an  immediate  success,  Shakespeare  acting  apart. 
The  Case  is  Altered,  a  comedy  never  acknowledged  by 
Jonson,  appears  to  belong  to  this  year.  From  1599  to 
1602  Jonson  directed  his  efforts  towards  dramatic  satire, 
and  wrote  Every  Man  Out  Of  His  Humour,  acted  by  the 
Chamberlain's  men  in    1599,    Cynthia" s   Revels,    1600, 


vi  ilife 

and  Poetaster,  1601,  both  for  the  children  of  the  Queen's 
Chapel.  From  these  contributions  to  the  war  of  the 
theaters,  in  which  Marston  was  the  chief  butt  of  his  ridi- 
cule, Jonson  turned  to  tragedy.  Sejanus  was  acted  by 
the  Chamberlain's  men  in  1603,  Shakespeare  once  more 
talcing  a  part.  This  tragedy  was  a  failure  on  the  stage, 
though  much  admired  by  "the  judicious."  At  this 
time  Jonson  was  living  with  Lord  D'Aubigny,  one  of 
his  many  friends  and  patrons  among  the  nobility. 

Upon  the  accession  of  King  James  in  1603,  Jonson 
wrote  an  entertainment  for  the  King  at  Althorp,  and  a 
second,  with  Dekker,  for  the  royal  progress  through  the 
city.  In  1605  The  Masque  of  Blackness,  the  first  of 
Jonson' s  long  and  splendid  series  of  masques  at  court, 
was  performed,  Inigo  Jones  furnishing  the  scenery.  In 
this  year  Jonson  with  his  friend  Chapman  suffered  a  short 
imprisonment  for  certain  reflections  on  the  Scots  in  the 
comedy,  Eastward  Hoe,  which  they  had  written  with 
John  Marston.  But  the  same  year  witnessed  the  tri- 
umphant success  of  Jonson1  s  Volpone,  which  was  acted 
at  the  Globe  and  at  the  two  universities.  During  the 
next  twelve  years  Jonson  enjoyed  his  greatest  repute,  the 
recognised  Mentor  as  well  as  boon  companion  of  poets 
and  playwrights,  the  friend  of  the  nobility,  and  wel- 
comed at  court.  Between  1605  and  16 14  Epicoene, 
1609,  The  Alchemist,  1610,  Catiline,  161 1,  and  Bar- 
tholomew Fair,  1 6 1 4,  were  produced  ;  and  each,  a  mas- 
terpiece in  its  kind,  added  to  Jonson'' s  dramatic  laurels. 
In  161 3  Jonson  was  tutor  to  the  son  of  Raleigh,  and 
visited  France.  In  161 6  he  published  a  folio  edition  of 
his  works,  and  wrote  his  satirical  comedy,  The  Devil  is 
an  Ass.  In  161  8  Jonson  set  out  on  foot  for  Scotland, 
visiting  his  many  friends  by  the  way,  and  staying  some 
weeks  with  the  Scottish  poet,  Drummond  of  Hawthorn- 
den,  near  Edinburgh,  in  which  city  Jonson  was  honored 


ilife  vii 

by  being  made  a  burgess.  Returning  to  London  in  the 
following  year,  Jonson  visited  Oxford,  and  formally  re- 
ceived the  degree  of  M.  A.  Meanwhile  the  poet's  pen 
was  far  from  idle,  and  he  continued  to  entertain  the 
court  with  masques  and  entertainments  almost  yearly 
throughout  the  reign  of  James.  A  few  of  the  most 
noted  of  these  productions  (thirty-four  complete)  are 
Hymenaei,  1606;  The  Masque  of  Queens,  1609;  Love 
Freed  from  Ignorance  and  Folly,  161 1  ;  and  the  grotesque 
Metamorphosed  Gypsies,  1621,  most  popular  in  its  day. 
In  October  of  this  year,  Jonson  was  granted  a  reversion 
of  the  office  of  Master  of  the  Revels,  after  the  death  of 
Sir  George  Buc  and  Sir  John  Astley  ;  but  the  latter  sur- 
vived him.  At  this  period  James  is  said  to  have  medi- 
tated knighting  Jonson.  Failing  to  do  this,  he  raised 
his  pension  to  ^200.  In  1623  Jonson's  library,  one 
of  the  best  in  England,  was  destroyed  by  fire  ;  and  in 
it,  to  judge  by  the  author's  verses,  An  Execration  against 
Vulcan,  perished  many  manuscripts,  especially  those  dis- 
playing the  scholarly  side  of  the  great  poet.  In  this  year 
Jonson  contributed  his  appreciative  poem,  To  the  Mem- 
ory of  my  Beloved,  the  Author,  Mr.  William  Shakespeare 
and  what  he  hath  left  us,  to  the  folio  edition  of  Shake- 
speare's works. 

With  the  coming  to  the  throne  of  King  Charles,  Jonson 
lost  his  hold  on  the  court,  and,  attacked  with  the  dropsy 
and  the  palsy,  spent  some  of  the  later  years  of  his  life 
bedridden.  He  returned  to  the  popular  stage  in  The 
Staple  of  News,  in  1625,  perhaps  under  the  pressure  of 
poverty  ;  and  in  1629  experienced  his  severest  theatrical 
reverse  in  The  Ne<w  Inn  which  was  not  even  heard  to 
conclusion.  In  1628  Jonson  had  succeeded  Middleton 
as  chronologer  to  the  city  of  London,  to  which  post  was 
attached  a  yearly  stipend  of  100  nobles.  At  court, 
too,  Jonson  had  a  short  restoration  to  favor.      The  King 


viii  Jltfe 

sent  him  a  present  of  ^ioo  in  his  sickness  in  1629, 
and  commissioned  him  to  write  a  masque,  Love's  Tri- 
umph through  Callipolis.  Later,  at  Jonson' s  request, 
Charles  raised  the  old  poet's  allowance  from  100  marks 
to  ^100,  adding  a  terce  of  canary.  But  the  influence 
of  Inigo  Jones,  Jonson' s  enemy  at  court,  was  greater 
than  the  old  poet's.  Jonson  lost,  too,  his  post  as  city 
chronologer  in  1631,  and  turned  once  more  to  the  stage, 
and  to  the  preparation  of  a  second  volume  of  his  Works. 
In  1632  The  Magnetic  Lady  was  acted  and  fairly  well 
received;  but  his  Tale  of  a  Tub  (1633)  was  "not 
likt "  at  court  in  1634.  Jonson  died  August  6,  1637, 
leaving  behind  him  besides  other  fragments,  his  Sad 
Shepherd,  and  his  prose  tract,  Discoveries.  His  Epi- 
grams and  non-dramatic  poetry,  under  the  title  The 
Forest,  had  already  appeared  in  the  folio  of  1616.  His 
lesser  poems  and  translations  he  gathered  under  the  title 
Underwoods,  first  printed  in  the  folio  of  1640.  Jon- 
son was  buried  in  the  Poets'  Corner  in  Westminster 
Abbey.  In  1638  a  collection  of  thirty  elegies  ap- 
peared, entitled  Jonsonus  Virbius,  to  which  nearly  all 
the  leading  poets  of  the  day  contributed  ;  and  in  1 640 
was  published  a  second  folio  edition  of  Jonson' s  col- 
lected Works. 


3|ntroDuctton 

The  two  plays  here  reprinted  are  specimens  of  vigor- 
ous old  English  comedy  at  its  best,  popular  in  their  day 
and  for  long  after,  and  able,  from  their  faithfulness  to 
life,  to  abide  the  test  of  time.  Five  years  separated  the 
acting  of  Eastward  Hoe  from  the  acting  of  The  Alche- 
mist, and  the  two  comedies  are  connected  by  the  great 
name  of  Ben  Jonson;  who,  contributing  his  share  with 
Chapman  and  Marston  to  the  excellencies  of  the  former, 
reached  in  the  latter  by  his  unaided  effort  the  very  height 
of  his  art.  The  Alchemist  is  the  work  of  a  conscious 
artist,  deeply  versed  in  the  lore  of  his  craft,  a  work  con- 
summately logical  and  constructive,  knit  like  a  piece  of 
chain  armor,  admirably  proportioned  in  its  complete- 
ness, perfect  in  each  link  and  all  but  impervious  to  the 
thrusts  of  adverse  criticism.  Eastward  Hoe,  although 
less  absolutely  finished,  from  its  naturalness  and  the  uni- 
versality of  the  qualities  of  its  figures,  from  its  happy 
propinquity  to  the  language  and  the  manners  of  every- 
day life  is  scarcely  less  triumphantly  successful.  If  the 
search  of  the  reader  is  for  poetry,  he  will  find  it  in 
neither  play.  And  let  him  be  reminded  that  poetry  and 
drama  are  by  no  means  convertible  or  coextensive  terms. 
But  if  he  would  view  as  in  a  mirror  without  flaw  the 
doings  of  men,  touched  with  that  satirical  side  light 
which  heightens  angles  and  deepens  shades,  if  he  would 


x  iflntro&uctton 

laugh  at  folly  and  reprobate  vice,  and  acknowledge 
withal  the  saving  grace  of  a  sound  heart  and  a  merry- 
contriving  wit,  he  will  not  read  these  plays  to  his  dis- 
appointment. 

When  Jonson  collaborated  with  Chapman  and  Mar- 
ston  in  Eastward  Hoe,  he  had  already  passed  through 
the  period  of  his  apprenticeship  to  the  drama.  Born  ten 
years  after  Shakespeare,  in  1574,  a  posthumous  child 
and  dependent  on  charity  for  his  education  at  West- 
minster School,  Jonson  had  trailed  a  pike  in  Holland, 
trod  the  boards  as  an  actor,  and  written  plays  for  Hens- 
lowe,  the  usurious  manager  and  exploiter  of  plays  ;  until, 
killing  a  fellow  actor  in  a  duel,  he  had  lost  even  that 
precarious  livelihood  and  remained  for  months  a  pris- 
oner in  a  felon's  jail.  Soon  after  his  release  he  had  gained 
the  enthusiastic  applause  of  the  town  in  Every  Man  In 
His  Humour  (acted  by  the  Chamberlain's  company, 
Shakespeare  himself  taking  a  part,  in  1598),  only  to 
lose  it  by  the  rancor  and  uncharity  of  his  attacks  upon 
courtiers,  citizens  and  his  fellow  authors  in  his  famous 
dramatic  satires,  Every  Man  Out  Of  His  Humour, 
Cynthia's  Revels  and  Poetaster,  acted  between  1599 
and  1 60 1 .  With  the  accession  of  King  James,  in  1603, 
Jonson  turned  to  the  court;  but  when  Eastward  Hoe 
was  written  he  had  not  yet  gained  that  recognition  and 
appreciation  among  "great  ones"  which  was  later  to 
give  him  a  position  of  such  extraordinary  prominence. 
As  to  his  collaborators,  Chapman  was  Jonson' s  senior 
by  some  fifteen  years,  of  gentle  birth  and  sometime  a 
student,  though  not  a  graduate,  of  Oxford.  Although 
he  too  had  labored  in  the  toils  of  Henslowe,  Chapman 


31ntroDuctton  xi 

was  already  the  author  of  two  or  three  published  come- 
dies, the  translator  of  seven  books  of  Homer  and  of 
parts  of  Ovid,  and  no  unworthy  continuator  of  Mar- 
lowe's exquisite  erotic  narrative  poem,  Hero  and  Lean- 
der.  Jonson  alludes  to  Chapman  at  all  times  in  terms 
of  almost  filial  respect. 

Marston  was  two  years  younger  than  Jonson.  He 
had  taken  his  bachelor's  degree  at  Oxford  in  i  593,  and 
marrying  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  chaplains  of  the  king, 
maintained  at  this  time  a  higher  station  than  either  Chap- 
man or  Jonson.  Moreover  Marston,  too,  had  already 
gained  no  inconsiderable  literary  repute  by  his  slashing 
and  scandalous  satirical  verse,  directly  or  indirectly  the 
cause  of  those  stage  quarrels  which  are  commonly  known 
as  the  war  of  the  theaters,1  and  by  his  plays,  anony- 
mous and  avowed,  chief  among  the  latter  the  two  parts 
of  Antonio  and  Mellida  (printed  in  1601  and  1602), 
works  the  mingled  faults  and  merits  of  which  are  dis- 
tinctive of  the  arrogant  and  eccentric  character  of  the 
author.  Marston  was  by  turns  Jonson' s  enemy  and  his 
friend,  attacking  him  and  lampooning  him  in  verse  and 
in  drama,  for  which  he  was  amply  requited  in  kind  ; 
and  again  dedicating,  in  1604,  his  Malcontent,  a  ro- 
mantic drama  of  no  mean  power,  "  to  Benjamin  Jonson 
that  most  grave  and  graceful  poet,  his  honest  and  judi- 
cious friend."  When  the  three  poets  joined  in  the 
writing  of  Eastward  Hoe  their  relations  must  have  been 
the  most  cordial,  Chapman  respecting  the  scholarship 
and  personal  character  of  Jonson,  and  Jonson  extending 
the  hand  of  fellowship  and  reconciliation  to  Marston. 
1  See  Introduction  to  Poetaster  and  Satiromastix  in  this  series. 


xii  31ntroJ)uction 

Collaboration  in  the  making  of  plays  is  one  of  the  most 
familiar  practices  in  the  Elizabethan  drama.  From 
Shakespeare  himself,  who  began  a  co-worker  with  Mar- 
lowe and  ended  perhaps  with  Fletcher  his  apprentice, 
to  the  veriest  dramatic  hack,  few  playwrights  of  the  age 
are  to  be  found  who  did  not  at  times  thus  compose  their 
dramas.  As  to  the  various  parts  contributed  by  the  three 
authors  of  Eastward  Hoe,  Mr.  Fleay  boldly  conjectures 
that  Marston  wrote  the  whole  of  Act  I  with  the  first 
scene  of  Act  II  ;  that  Chapman  took  up  the  play  at  that 
point  and  continued  it  to  the  conclusion  of  Act  IV, 
Scene  I  ;  and  that  Jonson  completed  the  drama.1  Mr. 
Bullen  finds  a  passage  written  in  a  manner  much  like 
that  employed  by  Marston  in  his  Fawn :  this  is  in  the 
part  of  the  play  attributed  by  Mr.  Fleay  to  Marston. 
But  Mr.  Bullen  also  finds  a  "Jonsonian  expression" 
in  a  scene  attributed  by  Mr.  Fleay  to  Marston,  and  "  a 
favorite  word  of  Marston  "  in  Mr.  Fleay' s  Jonsonian 
part.2  Dr.  Ward  cautiously  "  conceives  "  that  we  owe 
more  of  the  play  "to  Chapman  than  to  Marston, 
while  Jonson  probably  only  contributed  some  touches."  8 
And  to  complete  this  variety  of  opinion,  the  writer  of 
an  excellent  account  of  Eastward  Hoe  in  Blackwood's 
Magazine,  years  ago,  thought  that  "  probably  Jonson 
first  sketched  the  plan,  which  might  be  filled  up  by 
Chapman  and  receive  a  few  witty  and  satirical  touches 

1  Biographical  Chronicle  of  the  English  Drama,  I.  60,  and  II.  8l. 

2  The  Works  of  Marston,  III.  p.  8,  and  cf.  The  Faivn,  ibid., 
II.  p.  1 8 1  ;  see  also  I.  xlii,  III.  20,  and  104.  Mr.  Bullen's  idea 
that  Jonson  contributed  the  Prologue  seems  altogether  likely. 

3  History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature,  II.  441— 2. 


iflntroDuction  xiii 

from  the  pen  of  Marston."  1  Except  where  marked 
and  distinctive  qualities,  such  as  the  versification  of 
Fletcher  or  the  wide  and  fluent  phrase  of  Massinger  ex- 
ist, ascriptions  of  the  precise  limits  of  authorship  cannot 
but  be  regarded  askant,  although  the  known  qualities 
of  style,  vocabulary  and  manner  of  each  of  the  authors 
of  Eastward  Hoe  make  the  identification  of  a  few  pas- 
sages altogether  certain.  Granted  all  the  keenness  and 
knowledge  that  scholarship  has  ever  displayed,  did  these 
joint  authors  never  discuss  a  situation  among  them  ? 
And  who  was  it  that  suggested  the  thought  ?  who  held 
the  pen  ?  That  three  dramatists  should  achieve  in  union 
a  success  not  inferior  to  the  best  efforts  in  comedy  of 
any  one  of  them  alone,  is  in  itself  a  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance ;  for  there  is  a  geniality  of  spirit  in  East- 
ward Hoe  foreign  to  Marston,  a  definition  of  character 
and  a  restraint  in  incident  above  Chapman,  and  a  fluid- 
ity of  movement  and  naturalness  of  manner  not  always 
to  a  similar  degree  Jonson's. 

Written  not  long  after  the  accession  of  King  James, 
Eastward  Hoe  came  at  a  moment  when  English  jeal- 
ousy was  aroused  against  the  swarms  of  needy  adven- 
turers who  followed  the  transfer  of  the  northern  court  to 
opulent  London,  and  founded  their  claims  for  advance- 
ment on  the  accident  of  their  Scottish  birth.  Besides 
the  favors  bestowed  on  such,  the  king  soon  indulged  in  a 
lavish  and  indiscriminate  bestowal  of  knighthood,  partly 
from  ill-advised  policy,  and  partly  (it  was  whispered), 
from  a  Scottish  itch  for  the  royal  fees.  This  had  made 
the  newly  dubbed  knight  a  stock  figure  for  ridicule.  The 
1  B/ackivooJ's,  1 821,  X.  136. 


xiv  JIntroDuction 

figure  of  Sir  Petronell  Flash  is  a  happy  satire  on  the 
royal  carpet  knights,  and  might  easily  have  passed  with- 
out comment,  official  or  other,  together  with  the  allusion 
to  the  popularity  of  Scotch  fashions  in  a  farthingale 
which  is  warranted  "a  right  Scot."  Nor  is  it  impos- 
sible that  an  indulgent  censor  might  not  have  forgiven 
the  words  :  "I  ken  the  man  weel,  he  is  one  of  my 
thirty  pound  knights,"  even  although  pronounced  by 
a  clever  actor  in  a  tone  mimicking  the  royal  northern 
burr.  But  the  passage  on  the  ubiquitous  Scots,  "  who, 
indeed,  are  disperst  over  the  face  of  the  whole  earth  ;  " 
and  the  candor  of  the  wish  that  a  hundred  thousand 
of  them  were  in  Virginia,  where  "wee  shoulde  finde 
ten  times  more  comfort  of  them  there,  then  wee  doe 
heere  :  "  these  things  were  too  much  for  Caledonian 
sensibility.  On  the  complaint  of  Sir  James  Murray, 
whom  the  allusions  must  neatly  have  fitted  from  his  birth 
and  his  recently  created  knighthood,  Jonson  and  Chap- 
man were  arrested  and  lodged  in  jail.  They  were  even 
reported  at  one  time  to  have  been  in  imminent  danger 
of  having  their  nostrils  slit,  or  at  least  their  ears  lopped, 
like  Prynne  under  later  royal  displeasure.  Marston,  the 
real  offender,  escaped.  From  letters  seeking  their  release 
which  the  imprisoned  poets  wrote  to  the  king,  to  the 
Lord  Chamberlain,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  and  others, 
it  seems  that  their  offence  consisted  in  "two  clawses, 
and  both  of  them  not  our  owne,"  and  in  the  circum- 
stance that  their  play  had  been  presented  without  the 
Lord  Chamberlain's  allowance.1    In  excuse  of  the  lat- 

1  See  Mr.  B.  Dobell's  Neivly  Discovered  Documents  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan and  "Jacobean  Periods,  Athenaeum,  March  30,  190 1,  Chap- 
man's letters  to  the  King  and  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  p.  403. 


iflntroDuction  xv 

ter  the  poets  plead  "  our  play  so  much  importun'de, 
and  our  cleere  opinions,  that  nothinge  it  contain' d  could 
wprthely  be  held  ofFensive."  l  The  Lord  Chamber- 
lain readily  forgave  them  and,  with  Lord  D'Aubigny, 
Jonson's  munificent  patron  and  friend,  soon  effected 
their  release.2  The  tone  of  Chapman's  letters  is  peni- 
tent though  self  respecting  ;  Jonson,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected, assumes  his  favorite  attitude  of  the  just  man  a 
prey  to  unmerited  attack  and  obloquy.  He  declares 
"our  offence  a  play,  so  mistaken,  so  misconstrued,  so 
misapplied,  as  I  do  wonder  whether  their  ignorance  or 
impudence  be  most  who  are  our  adversaries."  !  And 
he  complains  of  being  "  commytted  hether,  unexam- 
yned,  nay  unheard  (a  rite  not  commonlie  denyed  to 
the  greatest  offenders)  and  I  made  a  guiltie  man  longe 
before  I  am  one,  or  ever  thought  to  bee."  4  After 
their  release  unharmed,  Jonson  "banqueted  all  his 
friends,"  among  them  Camden  and  Selden.  And  Jon- 
son's old  mother,  with  much  the  stoic  temper  of  her 
illustrious  son,  "  dranke  to  him,  and  shew  him  a  pa- 
per which  she  had  (if  the  sentence  had  taken  execu- 
tion) to  have  mixed  in  the  prisson  among  his  drinke, 
which  was  full  of  lustie  strong  poison,  and  that  she  was 
no  churle,  she  told,  she  minded  to  have  drunk  of  it  her- 
self."8 
Despite   all   this,   Eastward  Hoe   was    acted    before 

1  Chapman  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  ibid. 

2  A  se%ond  letter  of  Chapman  to  the  same,  ibid. 

8  Jonson  to  the  Countess  of  Rutland  probably,  ibid.,  p.  404. 

4  Jonson  to  a  Lord  unknown,  ibid.,  p.  403.   Seep.  158,  this  book. 

5  y orison's  Conversations  tuith  Drummond,  Shakespeare  Society's 
Publications,  1 842,  p.  20. 


xvi  2fltttro&uctton 

the  king  in  1614  ;  and  although  not  reprinted  after  the 
two  or  three  impressions  of  1605,  was  revived  in  1685 
in  a  version  entitled  Cuckolds  Haven  by  Nahum  Tate, 
in  an  alteration  called  The  Prentices  in  1752,  and  once 
more  under  the  title,  Old  City  Manners,  as  late  as 
1775.  It  has  even  been  said  that  Hogarth  owed  his 
realistic  series  of  prints,  Industry  and  Idleness,  1747, 
to  one  of  these  later  versions  of  Eastward  Hoe.  And 
indeed  the  theme  of  the  play  is  peculiarly  happy  in  its 
vivid  contrast  of  the  course  of  the  vicious  and  the  vir- 
tuous apprentice.  Nor  could  the  comedy  figures  be 
bettered  :  the  bluff  and  honest  goldsmith,  Touchstone, 
with  his  sententious  and  semi-humorous  comments  ;  his 
daughters,  the  one  virtuously  submissive  to  her  father's 
will,  the  other  wayward,  her  head  filled  with  romances 
and  smitten  with  a  longing  to  be  a  lady  ;  the  exemplary 
son-in-law,  Golding,  who  is  just  sufficiently  tiresome 
to  be  artistically  true  to  the  estimable  and  intolerable 
bourgeois  virtues  which  he  so  admirably  represents. 
Even  the  minor  characters,  the  malignant  old  usurer, 
Security,  Seagull  with  his  mariner's  tales  of  far  Virginia, 
Wolf,  the  turnkey  with  his  complete  collection  of  reli- 
gions in  jail  —  all  are  sketched  from  the  daily  contem- 
porary life  of  London  and  yet  are  significant  in  the 
larger  sense  that  gives  to  genuine  art  its  universal  appli- 
cation. 

In  the  years  that  passed  between  the  writing  of 
Eastward  Hoe  and  the  staging  of  The  Alchemist,  Jon- 
son  had  risen  from  a  young  man  of  promise,  battling 
for  his  ideals  in  art  and  life,  to  a  recognized  position 
at  court  and  a  repute  as  a  poet  scarcely  second  to  any 


ifintioDuctton  xvii 

of  his  time.  Besides  his  earlier  masques  and  enter- 
tainments, which  brought  him  into  intimate  relations 
with  royalty  and  the  nobility  of  England,  Jonson  had 
already  essayed  in  his  imperishable  tragedy,  Sejanus, 
acted  in  1603,  a  classical  drama  on  scholarly  lines, 
and  achieved  a  better  play  of  its  particular  kind  than 
had  yet  been  written  in  English.  In  comedy  he 
abandoned  experiment  and  personal  satire  to  develop 
to  its  perfection  in  his  three  master  comedies,  Volpone, 
acted  in  1605,  Epicoeue,  in  1609,  and  The  Alchemist, 
in  16 10,  his  theories  of  an  art  modelled  on  the  an- 
cients, and  yet  adjusted  to  English  conditions.  In  the 
hands  of  Burbage,  Lowin,  Armin,  and  other  great 
actors,  The  Alchemist  gained  an  immediate  popularity 
and  maintained  its  repute  with  play-goers  to  the  clos- 
ing of  the  theatres  in  1642.  This  popularity  waned 
with  the  increasing  power  of  Puritanism,  some  of  the 
abuses  of  which  were  only  too  trenchantly  ridiculed  in 
f he" "chaTacters'^T'ribuTation  Wholesome  and  Ananias. 
But  like  the  novels  of  Dickens,  which  the  comedies  of 
Jonson  so  resemble  in  their  humor,  their  underlying 
moral  purpose  and  minute  acquaintance  with  the  lower 
strata  of  contemporary  London  life,  The  Alchemist  is 
said  to  have  worked  an  immediate  and  remarkable  re- 
form in  calling  the  attention  of  the  public  to  the  char- 
acteristic  evils  which  it  so  vigorously  depicts.  With 
volpone  and  hpuoenc,  '1  tie  Alciiemist  was  among  the 
earliest  of  the  old  plays  to  be  revived  after  the  Resto- 
ration; and  it  continued  long  to  hold  the  stage,  Gar- 
rick  giving  it  a  new  lease  of  life  in  his  day  by  his 
matchless  impersonation  of  Face  and,  later,   of  Abel 


xviii  31ntro0uction 

Drugger,  whose  role  he  combined  with  that  of  the 
angry  boy,  somewhat  to  the  detriment  of  both.1 

Volpone  is  a  gigantic  study  in  villainy,  constructed 
on  a  hypothetical  basis :  not  the  world  as  the  world  is, 
but  the  world  as  it  might  be,  those  preservative  influ- 
ences which  keep  it  from  dissolution  being  removed 
or  non-existent.  Epicoene  is  "a  Titanic  farce,"  in 
which  improbability  is  heaped  on  improbability,  yet 
withal  so  consonantly  with  the  initial  assumption  that  the 
reader  is  led  insensibly  to  forget  reality  and  yield  him- 
self to  a  perfect  illusion.  The  triumph  of  both  plays 
lies  in  the  inexorable  artistic  logic  with  which  each  is 
carried  to  its  inevitable  conclusion.  In  The  Alchemist 
we  have  a  no  less  consummate  construction,  climax 
rising  on  climax,  until  the  astonished  reader  knows  not 
which  to  admire  the  more,  the  originality  that  can  con- 
trive so  successful  a  rising  series  of  situations  or  the 
sobriety  of  the  method  which  maintains  each  as  the 
natural  outcome  of  what  has  gone  before.  The  Al- 
chemist is  a  greater  play  than  either  of  its  predecessors, 
not  only  from  the  quality  that  caused  Coleridge  en- 
thusiastically to  declare  that  it  was  one  of  "the  three 
most  perfect  plots  ever  planned,"  2  but  because  it  is. 
far  closer  to  life  and  less  a  caricature  and  exaggeration 
than  either  Volpone  or  Epicoe?ie. 

And  when  all  litis  be^h  saifl,  what  in  its  kind  could 
surpass  these  clever,  delectable  sharpers  and  their  piti- 
ful dupes,  each  contributing  in  his  folly  and  wickedness 

1  For  the  several  dramatic  adaptations  of  The  Alchemist,  see  the 
Bibliography. 

2  Table  Talk,  ed.  Ashe,  1896,  p.  294. 


2flntrotmctton  xix 

tn_ his  nwn  undoings?    What  admirable  comedy  is  con- 
tained in  Subtle' s  eloquent  alchemical  jargon  and  as- 
sumed purity  of  life;  in  Drugger  seeking  for  lucky  days 
un  which  to  sell  tobacco  and  cosmetics;   and  in  Puritan 
Ananias  prophesying  against  the  mass,  bells,  Spanish^ 
"slops  and  "  heathen  Greek,"  yet  finding  the  "  casting," 
if  not  the"counterfeiting,  of  dollars,  lawful.    And  where 
shall  we  find  the  equal  of  the  cameleon-like  Face,  noW" 
swaggering  as  the  flashy  "  Captain/ '  bullving"TJapper^ 
trie  credulous  little  attorney's  clerk,  or  jocular'; 
on  the  "angry  boy;   now  a  furnace-lad  blinking  ing' 
"5usiy~ariHe~rnagnificent   MammoxL_.gl,s    fie    waves   his 
jewelled  fingers  and  bestows  imaginary  dukedoms:   in 
the  end    transformed    into  snavp,    shaven  Jprpmy  the, 
butler,  staring  the  gossiping  crowd  of  neighbors  into 
silence  and  assuring  the_discomforted  Surly,  who  knows 
him  not  undisguised.: 


If  I  can  hear  of  [Face],  sir,  I  '11  bring  you  word 
Unto  your  lodging. 

I  thought  them  honest  as  myself,  sir. 

Well  may  Charles  Lamb  have  exclaimed  as  to  one  of 
those  gorgeous  and  spendthrift  passages  of  Elizabethan 
eloquence  that  seem  to  revel  in  their  own  exorbitance 
of  imagery  and  phrase:  "  The  judgment  is  perfectly 
overwhelmed  by  the  torrent  of  images,  words,  and 
book-knowledge  with  which  Mammon  confounds  and 
stunThis  incredulous  hearer.  They  come  pouring  out 
like  the' "successive  strokes  of  Nilus.  They  '  doubly 
redouble  strokes  upon  the  foe.'  Description  outrides 
proof.  We  are  made  to  believe  effects  before  we  have 
testimony  of  their  causes:   as  a  lively  description  of  the 


introduction 


joys  of  heaven  sometimes  passes  for  an  argument  to 
prove  the  existence  of  such  a  place.  If  there  is  no 
one  image  which  rises  to  the  height  of  the  sublime, 
yet  the  confluence  and  assemblage  of  them  all  pro- 
duces an  effect  equal  to  the  grandest  poetry. ' ' * 

We  have  thus  before  us  two  excellent  examplesj^fy 
Elizabethan  comedy  of  every-day  life,   noisy,  bustling 
and  full  of  business,  broad  of  speech  and  exceedingly 
^-reatisTJc""^  in  situation;   andyet  not   untrue    to    the— 

This 


better  feelings  and  the  larger  ethics  of  life.  l  ms  is 
the  oldest  species  of  drama  in  the  language  and  may 
be  traced  with  unfailing  features  from  the  mysteries 
and  moralities  through  the  interludes,  especially  those 
of  John  Heywood,  into  the  "regular"  drama  of 
Elizabeth,  Charles  and  the  Restoration;  and  thence 
to  the  theaters  and  concert  halls  of  to-day.  In  a  nar- 
rower sense  these  comedies  of  bourgeois  life  in  the  city 
of  London  form  but  a  class  of  that  variety  of  the  real- 
istic drama  which  is  known  as  the  comedy  of  man- 
ners. In  this  kind  of  play,  of  which  Middleton,  next 
to  Jonson,  is  the  greatest  English  master,  lifejs_yjpwed 
as  the  realist,  with  a  sense  for  detail,  the  satirist,,  and 
withal  the  moralist,  sees  it.  Human  follies,  weak  - 
nesses,  and  foibles  are  much'to  jj;"  and  it  delights  to 
'"find  a  passion,  not  too  serious,  or  a  fancyr  not  too 
sane,  ruling  and  controlling  a  man.  This  form  of 
comedyUftcn  uki,s  admiuagi  uf  aifindividual  eccen- 


tricity, such  as  lviarmiiuii7v,itih"to  be  a"pra"Hpp_  nr 
the  constitutional  abhorrence  of  noise  by  Morose  in 
Epicoene.      It  n&w-Frmlinr,  iisp  pf  some,  odditvof_  dress 

1  Specimens  of  English  Dramatic  Poets,  ed.   1 893,  I.,  p.   142. 


iflntrotmctton  xxi 

or  trick  of  speech,  such  as  Touchstone's  "  Work  upon 
that  now,"  oT** the  players'  ends  of  Quicksilver,  to 
give  greater  concreteness  to  its  personages;  but  no 
comedy  of  genuine  worth  ever  depended  cm~~surh 
superficialities  alone.  Jonson  gave  us  the  word 
"humor"  to  describe  the  particular  variety  of  the 
comedy  of  manners  which  he  practiced  and  theoreti- 
cally approved;  and,  after  his  scholarly  wont,  he  care- 
fully defined  his  metaphorical  use  of  the  term.  A 
humor  to  Tonson  was  a  warp  in  character,  a  bias  5f""~ 
disposition  by  which 

Some  one  peculiar  qualitie 
Doth  so  possesse  a  man,  that  it  doth  draw 
All  his  affects,  his  spirits,  and  his  powers, 
In  their  conductions,  all  to  runne  one  way.1 

Mammon  is  greed,  luxury  and  selfishness  ;  Subtle^ 
"crafr,  presumption  and  chicanery.  It  is  these,  their 
humors,  that  "draw"  them  ""to""  runne  one"  way  ^ 
ari7Hrrlh~e~'gn~d~~u7Klo  them.  Surly  is  proud  of  hisjdis- 
cernment,  he  at  least  can  not  be  gulled:  heis  gulled. 
Kastrell2_anjintamable  hawk  that  Hies  at  everything, 
""Dame  Pliant,  DoIX-'ommon,  tneir  names  describe  the~  <c^ 
rtnmor_  of  each.  And  m  Eastward  Hoe  as  well, 
Quicksilver  has  a  passion  for  the  playhouse  and  for 
seeing  "life;"  Gertrude  is  consumed  with  the  desire 
to  be  a  lady;  Security,  Sindefy:  their  names,  too, 
ironically  betray  them.  But  Jonson,  in  his  definition, 
is  careful  to  add: 

But  that  a  rooke  by  wearing  a  pyed  feather, 
The  cable  hat-band,  or  the  three-pild  ruffe, 

1  Prologue  to  Every  Man  In  His  Humour. 


xxii  3flntroDuctton 

A  yard  of  shoo-tye,  or  the  Switzers  knot 
On  his  French  garters,  should  affect  a  humor! 
O,  it  is  more  than  most  ridiculous.1 

Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  the  comedy  of 
manners  was  thoroughly  vernacular  in  its  origin  and 
continued  such,  in  the  main,  to  the  end.  And  yet  it 
is  equally  true  that  two  varieties  of  these  plays  are 
readily  distinguishable:  the  purely  vernacular,  life  seen 
with  the  naked  English  eye;  and  plays  written  under 
the  influence  of  Plautus,  life  seen  through  the  converg- 
ing lenses  of  Roman  Comedy.  The  distinction  is 
precisely  that  existing  between  the  two  types  of  satire, 
the  vernacular  type  to  which  much  of  Piers  Plowman 
and  all  of  The  Steele  Glds  belong,  and  the  regular 
satires  constructed  on  the  models  of  Horace  and  Juve- 
nal by  Donne,  Hall,  and  Marston.  Among  the  ear- 
lier English  comedies  Gammer  Gurtori1 's  Needle  and 
Ralph  Roister  Doister  represent  the  same  contrast  ; 
and  in  following  times,  Middleton  is  the  most  charac- 
teristic exponent  of  the  vernacular  type,  Jonson  and 
Chapman  of  the  type  which  is  conscious  of  the  ex- 
istence, the  demands,  and  the  limitations  of  Roman 
comedy.  The  braggart  Captain  Bobadil  of  Jonson' s 
first  successful  comedy,  Every  Man  In  His  Humour, 
was  to  be  encountered  in  any  ordinary  or  tavern  in 
London;  but  he  is  not  depicted  without  at  least  a  con- 
sciousness of  the  Miles  Gloriosus.  Face,  the  shifty, 
scoundrelly  servant,   has  grossly  misused  his  master's 

house. — He  is  as  guilty  as  hls_j>als.  Subtle  and-HolI. 

"arret  yet  in  the  end  he  escapes  punishment  and  is 
1  Prologue  to  Every  Man  In  His  Humour. 


ifintroDuction  xxiii 

given  all,  fur  his  cleverness.  Here  the  tricky,  unprin- 
cipled slave  or  parasite,  who  serves  as  the  motive  force 
"in  so  many"ofTrTe~co'inedies  of  Pla'lUus'  arid  TerenciTTs 
responsible  for  this  lapse  in  the  ethics  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan dramatist. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  consummate  artistry  of 
Jonson  the  comedy  of  manners  received  a  classical  trend 
which  deeply  affected  the  drama  in  Jonson' s  own  day 
and  modified  the  course  of  its  subsequent  development. 
Jonson' s  theories  were  from  the  first  those  of  the 
classicist.  He  believed  in  the  criticism  of  Horace  and 
in  the  rhetoric  of  Quintilian; 1  in  the  sanction  of  clas- 
sical usage  for  history,  oratory  and  poetry.  He  be- 
lieved that  English  drama  should  follow  the  example 
of  Greek  tragedy  and  the  practices  of  the  vetus  comoe- 
dia.%  And  he  reprobated  the  improbabilities,  the  leaps 
in  time  and  the  changes  of  scene,  in  which  the  popular 
dramas  of  the  day  abounded.8  In  the  fragment  of 
Mortimer,  as  well  as  in  Catiline,  Jonson  preserved  the 
ancient  chorus;  and  he  struggled  for  unity  of  time  to 
the  serious  detriment  of  probability  in  Volpone*  to 
reach  both  the  unity  of  time  and  of  place  in  their  per- 
fection in  The  Alchemist, ,5     But  the  reader  must  be 

1  See  the  several  passages  translated  from  Quintilian  in  Jonson's 
prose  tract,  Discoveries  ,•  and  the  weight  given  to  the  theories  of 
Horace  in  the  same  book. 

2  Prologue  to  E-very  Man  Out  of  His  Humour. 

8  See  his  strictures  in  the  Prologue  to  E-very  Man  In  His  Hu- 
mour. 

*  Cf.  Professor  Lounsbury  on  this  topic,  Shakespeare  as  a  Dra- 
matic Artist,  1 90 1,  p.  85. 

6  See  Note,  p.  166. 


xxiv  ^Introduction 

reminded  that  Jonson  was  no  supine  classicist,  content 
indiscriminately  to  praise  all  practices,  were  they  but 
Greek  or  Roman,  and  to  bewail  the  Gothic  barbarism 
into  which  the  world  had  fallen  since  the  death  of 
Seneca.  On  the  contrary,  Jonson  asserted  in  theory 
and  confirmed  in  his  practice  "  the  same  licence,  or 
free  power  to  illustrate  and  heighten  our  invention," 
—  to  use  his  own  words  —  which  he  affirmed  that  the 
ancients  had  always  enjoyed.1  When  Jonson  followed 
the  classics  he  followed  them  faithfully,  as  in  Catiline 
and  The  Alchemist.  Dispensing  with  their  guidance 
at  other  times,  Jonson  went  his  own  way,  as  in  his 
masques  and  later  plays.  When  Jonson  wrote  an  ode, 
he  studied  Pindar;  when  he  penned  a  satire  or  an  epi- 
gram, he  remembered  Juvenal  and  Martial.  There 
was  to  Jonson  an  orthodox  and  professional  way  of 
doing  recognized  things,  but  this  did  not  in  the  least 
preclude  his  exercise  of  his  originality  and  his  recog- 
nition that  every  rule  of  classical  art  must  ultimately 
be  tested  by  its  applicability  to  contemporary  con- 
ditions. Jonson  might  have  written  the  well  known 
words  of  Matthew  Arnold  to  define  his  position  to 
his  time.  "  In  the  sincere  endeavor  to  learn  and 
practice  amid  the  bewildering  confusion  of  our  times 
what  is  sound  and  true  in  poetical  art,  I  seemed  to 
myself  to  find  the  only  sure  guidance,  the  only  solid 
footing  among  the  ancients.  They,  at  any  rate, 
knew  what  they  wanted  in  art,  and  we  do  not."  2 
Thus  in  the  practice  of  comedy  Jonson  began  in  the 

1  Prologue  to  Every  Man  Out  of  His  Humour. 

2  Poems  of  Matthezv  Arnold,  Preface  to  the  edition  of  1854. 


JlntroDuctton  xxv 

leading  strings  of  Plautus,  and  developed  the  remarkable 
dramatic  satires  which  he  contributed  to  the  war  of  the 
theaters  from  a  powerful  application  of  moral  ideas  to 
his  new  comedy  of  humors.  In  Eastward  Hoe  he 
seems  to  have  emerged  from  the  period  in  which  the 
over-elaboration  of  his  faculties  of  analysis  and  satirical 
invective  impaired  his  art.  How  far  Jonson's  associa- 
tion with  his  fellow  playwrights  may  have  influenced 
this  clarification  of  method  and  style  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  say.  In  Vol-pone,  from  its  hypothetical  basis  and 
departure  from  real  life,  Jonson  stepped  back  from  truly 
realistic  art  into  the  moralist's  caricature  of  vice.  In 
Epicoe?ie  he  substituted  colossal  folly  and  ingenious  situ- 
ation, for  actualities  and  wrought  a  successful  tour  de 
force.  Lastly,  in  The  Alchemist  we  have  a  frank  return 
to  realjty,  the  moralist  subordinated  to  the  satirist,  the 
satirist  serving  the  artist,  and  the  artist  reconciling  in 
perfect  equipoise  the  claims  of  action,  plot  and  character. 
Shakespeare  marks  the  height  to  which  the  drama  ot 
the  age  attained.  Jonson  exercised  the  more  potent  in- 
fluence on  what  came  after.  Jonson's  personal  associa- 
tions touch  almost  every  notable  name,  in  literature,  in 
courtly  and  public  life,  from  the  last  few  years  of  Eliza- 
beth far  into  the  reign  of  King  Charles.  Camden  had 
educated  him,  Bacon  encouraged  him,  Selden  was  his 
intimate  friend.  He  was  esteemed  and  patronized  by 
King  James  and  by  many  of  his  nobility.  A  strong  and 
enduring  friendship  subsisted  between  Jonson  and  Shake- 
speare, who  had  acted  in  some  of  Jonson's  earlier  plays. 
And  it  is  agreeable  to  believe  the  tradition  which  re- 
lates that  Jonson  owed  his  first  dramatic  success  to  the 


xxvi  31ntroDuctton 

discernment  and  encouragement  of  the  master  -  poet. 
Nor  was  Jonson's  influence  on  the  drama  of  his  day  less 
than  we  might  expect  from  a  man  of  such  association 
and  of  so  commanding  a  personality.  The  association 
of  Jonson,  Chapman  and  Marston  was  one  of  kindred 
spirits.  It  is  not  impossible  that  Jonson  received  his 
training  in  the  school  of  Plautus  and  Terence  through 
the  example  if  not  at  the  hands  of  Chapman.  Both  men 
were  deeply  read  in  classical  literature,  and  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  ancient  learning  to  a  remarkable  de- 
gree considering  the  counter  trend  of  their  age.  Mar- 
ston, from  his  partly  Italian  extraction,  had  in  him  a 
romantic  strain  which  neither  of  the  others  shows,  but 
Marston  too  was  a  "classic,"  if  not  in  his  tragedy  of 
Sophonisba,  in  his  satires  ;  and  he  is  closely  allied  to 
Jonson  in  a  certain  sardonic  humor,  in  his  attitude  of 
arrogance  towards  the  public  and  in  the  conscious  effort 
of  his  art.  There  can  be  no  question  that  Marston  owes 
much  in  his  plays  to  the  immediate  example  of  Jonson. 
As  much  can  not  be  said  for  Dekker  and  Chettle  with 
whom  alone,  besides,  Jonson  collaborated  in  two  plays 
now  no  longer  extant.  For  in  none  of  the  existing 
plays  of  these  two  authors  can  a  trace  of  the  influence 
of  Jonson  be  discerned,  if  we  except  Dekker's  Satiro- 
Mastix,  an  avowed  retort  to  Jonson's  Poetaster,  imi- 
tating and  parodying,  as  it  does  in  places,  Jonsonian 
situations,  personages  and  phraseology. 

In  a  consideration  of  the  influence  of  Jonson  on  the 
drama  of  his  time  it  is  important  to  remember  that  he 
never  enjoyed  a  steady  and  continuous  success  with  the 
public.    His  arrogant  disregard  for  the  verdict  of  the 


iflntro&uctton  xxvii 

vulgar,  his  preconceptions  as  to  the  practice  of  the  dra- 
matic art  and,  at  times,  the  too  apparent  moral  purpose 
of  some  of  his  plays  precluded  the  possibility  of  this. 
Jonson's  successes  on  the  popular  stage  —  and  he  was 
far  from  without  them  —  were  won  by  sheer  force  of 
genius  and  snatched  at  times  from  unwilling  auditors. 
Moreover  the  whole  spirit  of  the  contemporary  drama, 
its  carelessness  and  ease,  its  amateurishness,  its  negli- 
gent construction,  its  borrowings  and  pilferings,  were 
alien  to  the  practice  of  his  art,  the  first  demands  of 
which  were  originality  of  design,  conscious  literary  con- 
sistency and  a  professional  touch  leading  at  times  to  man- 
nerism. Hence  we  must  look  for  general  rather  than 
specific  effects  of  the  art  of  Jonson  on  his  immediate 
contemporaries  and  expect  to  find  the  close  following 
that  marks  a  disciple  only  in  the  younger  dramatic 
"sons  of  Ben."  None  the  less  Jonson  stood  in  the 
actual  relation  of  master  to  two  of  the  minor  dramatists 
of  his  day.  The  first  of  these  was  Nathaniel  Field,  who 
had  been  kidnapped  as  a  boy  and  taught  the  trade  of 
actor,  as  was  but  too  frequently  the  case,  at  the  point 
of  the  rod.1  Field  acted  in  Cynthia' s  Revels  ;  and  Jon- 
son, no  doubt  moved  by  compassion  for  a  child  de- 
prived of  home  and  schooling,  read  Horace  and  Mar- 
tial to  him  and  taught  him  to  make  plays.  Field  profited 
by  this  instruction  and  composed  several  comedies,  two 
of  which  remain  extant  2  to  attest  his  master's  method  in 
their  ease  and  cleverness  of  plot,  their  pervading  satiric 

1  Fleay,  History  of  the  London  Stage,  1 890,  pp.  126  ff. 

2  Woman  is  a  Weathercock  and  Amends  for  Ladies,  in  Nero  and 
Other  Plays,  Mermaid  Series,  ed.  A.  W.  Verity,  1888. 


xxviii  31ntroimctioiT 

humor  and  their  "  vigorous  and  eccentric  characteriza- 
tion." *  The  other  playwright  who  claimed  Jonson  for 
his  immediate  master  was  Richard  Brome,  sometime 
the  great  poet's  servant.  Brome  caught  much  of  Jon- 
son's  self-consciousness,  which  he  mingled  at  times 
amusingly  with  the  diffidence  befitting  his  former  sta- 
tion in  life.  Brome  learned  all  that  a  man  of  conscien- 
tiousness and  unremitting  industry,  working  on  a  meagre 
education  and  without  genuine  literary  instinct,  could 
be  expected  to  learn  ;  in  fine,  Brome  caught  the  Jon- 
sonian  manner  in  its  coarser  outlines,  without  its  in- 
forming spirit  of  poetry  and  without  its  scholarly  dis- 
tinction. 

Among  the  free  and  untamed  Elizabethan  spirits, 
his  earlier  companions,  Jonson' s  influence  was  far  less 
marked  and  consisted  more  in  the  ideal  of  restraint,  of 
considerate  workmanship,  and  constructive  originality 
which  he  set  up  before  them.  It  can  not  be  denied  that 
men  of  such  adaptable  genius  as  Beaumont,  Fletcher, 
and  Middleton  with  their  successors,  Massinger  and 
Shirley,  owed  something  to  Jonson  especially  in  the 
conception  and  conduct  of  the  comedy  of  manners. 
But  these  men  were  too  great  and  their  sympathy  with 
the  romantic  spirit  of  their  age  was  too  close  to  admit 
of  their  falling  much  within  the  influence  of  Jonson's 
orbit.  The  similarity  of  the  blank  verse  of  Beaumont 
to  that  of  Jonson,  in  its  sinew  and  restraint,  has  been 
often  remarked  ;  but  in  this  respect,  perhaps  less  than 
in  any  other,  was  Jonson  influential  in  the  drama  of  his 
time  :   for  the  tendency  in  dramatic  blank  verse  was 

1   Woman  is  a  Weathercock,  etc.,  Mermaid  Series,  p.  336. 


3|ntro&uction  xxix 

towards  a  relaxed  and  fluent  structure,  and  comedy 
showed  an  increasing  preference  for  prose.  In  the  char- 
acter of  its  verse,  in  its  antithetical  wit  and  controlled 
style,  in  its  ideals  of  poetry,  drama  and  criticism,  it 
was  reserved  for  the  age  of  Dryden  to  realize  to  the 
full  the  classical  ideals  which  Jonson  had  championed 
in  times  yet  stimulated  with  the  strong  wine  of  the 
Renaissance.1 

It  was  in  his  later  days,  those  of  the  Apollo  Room 
of  the  Devil  Tavern  as  contrasted  with  the  earlier  times 
of  the  Mermaid,  that  Jonson  wielded  his  greatest  lit- 
erary influence.  There,  as  his  namesake  Doctor  Samuel 
Johnson  later  expressed  it,  "seated  on  the  throne  of 
earthly  felicity,"  the  surrounding  walls  blazoned  with 
his  mild  and  judicious  leges  conviviales,  Jonson  held  his 
literary  court  and  ruled  his  not  too  turbulent  Bohemia, 
circled  by  the  wits,  the  poets  and  many  a  choice  spirit 
among  the  young  nobility  of  the  day.  Jonson 's  in- 
fluence on  the  literature  of  the  reign  of  King  Charles 
was  exerted  more  through  his  poetry  and  his  masques 
and  less  through  his  later  dramas,  which  reverted  to  an 
intrusive  moral  purpose  and  hardened  at  times  —  as  in 
The  Magnetic  Lady — into  mere  allegory.  Notwith- 
standing, several  of  the  younger  "sons  of  Ben  "  at- 
tempted the  drama  as  well  as  the  lyric  and  the  occa- 
sional verse  of  their  master.  And  although  the  pastoral 
and  pseudo-romantic  spirit  that  led  directly  to  the  he- 
roic plays  of  the  Restoration  was  strong  upon  them  in 

1  See  the  present  editor's  Ben  Jotison  and  the  Classical  School, 
Publications  of  the  Modern  Language  Association,  1898,  XIII. 
No.  2. 


xxx  introduction 

tragedy  and  "romance,"  when  these  dramatists  wrote 
comedies  they  turned  instinctively  to  the  man  who  had 
adapted  Roman  comedy  to  English  conditions  and  who, 
according  to  the  ideals  of  their  classical  education,  had 
achieved  the  most  perfect  literary  drama  which  England 
had  produced.  Not  only  is  life  conceived  in  general, 
in  these  comedies  of  the  later  gentlemen  playwrights, 
as  Jonson  conceived  life  ;  but  at  times  his  personages 
and  situations,  even  the  turn  and  trick  of  his  phrase, 
are  adopted,  for  the  most  part  under  sufficiently  changed 
conditions  to  preclude  any  charge  of  plagiarism,  but  so 
as  to  leave  the  student  of  Jonson  in  no  uncertainty  as 
to  their  paternity.  But  if  the  young  wits  could  admire 
him,  few  could  follow  in  its  details  Jonson' s  difficult 
and  studious  art.  In  The  Muses'  Looking  Glass,  which 
Jonson  might  have  seen  on  the  stage  two  years  before 
his  death  in  1637,  Thomas  Randolph  essayed  a  satir- 
ical portraiture  of  the  Puritan  in  much  the  Jonsonian 
manner.  But  Randolph,  brilliant  and  witty  though  he 
was,  failed  fully  to  catch  the  Jonsonian  spirit  of  comedy. 
In  his  Ordinary,  William  Cartwright  attempted  the 
portrayal  of  a  group  of  rascals  and  sharpers  such  as  Jon- 
son so  often  delights  in  ;  but  the  picture  is  gross  and 
the  plot  a  cobweb.  Cartwright  was  too  purely  aca- 
demic, moreover,  to  have  learned  to  know  his  London 
as  Jonson  knew  it.  May's  City  Match  is  extravagant 
and  farcical  like  Epicoene :  but  the  sense  of  farce  and 
extravagance  is  never  lost,  for  the  dramatic  logic  of  Jon- 
son was  beyond  May's  sounding.  Marmion's  A  Fine 
Companion,  although  including  a  shadow  of  Captain 
Bobadil,  is  undramatic,  if  well  written.    As  to  the  pre- 


3Introtiuctton  xxxi 

Restoration  comedy  of  Davenant,  it  smacks  more  of 
Middleton  than  of  Jonson. 

The  influence  of  Jonson  on  his  age,  when  all  has 
been  said,  was  an  influence  of  restraint  ;  and  never  were 
there  wilder  steeds  than  those  that  drew  the  gorgeous, 
glittering  car  of  Elizabethan  romantic  drama.  It  was 
Jonson  that  reclaimed  the  drama  from  amateurishness 
and  insisted  on  its  serious  function  as  an  art  existing  for 
more  than  idle  diversion.  'It  was  Jonson  that  set  a 
standard  of  literary  excellence,  not  recognized  before 
his  time  ;  and  assumed  in  so  doing  an  attitude  of  inde- 
pendence towards  the  public.  Jonson  developed  the 
masque  and  devised  a  species  of  Roman  tragedy  con- 
ceived historically  and  freed  alike  from  the  restrictions  of 
Senecan  models  and  the  improbabilities  of  romantic 
treatment.  Most  important  of  all,  Jonson  added  the 
comedy  of  manners  or  humors,  as  he  called  it,  to  the 
forms  of  the  English  drama.  It  was  this  satirically 
heightened  picture  of  contemporary  life  handled  with""1T 
restraint  and  finish  ultimately  traceable  to  classical  ex- 
ample that  survived  on  the  stage  after  the  Restoration 
in  the  comedies  of  Davenant,  Dryden,  Etheredge  and 
Vanbrugh.  In  a  word  Jonson  gave  to  the  later  drama 
one  of  its  two  permanent  types. 


THE    TEXT 

Three  quarto  versions  of  Eastward  Hoe  appeared  in  1605, 
all  "printed  for  William  Aspley  "  and  showing  title-pages  practi- 
cally identical.  Only  the  first  quarto  contains  the  passage  against 
the  Scotch  which  cast  two  of  the  authors  into  prison.  Really, 
however,  (see  Notes)  there  are  but  two  editions  of  Eastward  Hoe  : 
Ql  and  Qz  constituting  the  editio  princeps ;  Q3  the  second.  The 
first  edition,  as  exhibited  in  Qz,  has  been  followed,  save  where 
otherwise  noted  ;  all  variants  other  than  obvious  misprints  or  mere 
variations  in  spelling  are  given  ;  and  the  omitted  passage  and  neces- 
sary collation  have  been  supplied  from  a  copy  of  Q I  in  the  South 
Kensington  Museum.  The  punctuation,  probably  Aspley's,  and 
not  Marston's,  Chapman's,  or  Jonson's,  has  been  modernized.  In 
designating  speakers,  in  order  to  avoid  the  confusions  of  the  quartos, 
the  whole  name,  in  modern  form,  is  given  for  the  first  speech,  an 
abbreviation  thereafter.  Any  addition  to  the  stage  directions  of  Qz 
is  in  brackets  ;  substitutions  for  old  directions  are  in  brackets  and 
the  former  reading  is  given  among  the  variants.  As  an  aid  in  dis- 
tinguishing the  quartos,  even  the  misprints  of  Qz  are  noted  among 
the  variants. 


EASTWARD 

HOE. 

As 

It  was  playdin  the 
cBlack<>frieru 

By 
The  Children  of  her  Maiefties  Reuefe? 

{JMxitby. 

Cbo:Chapkah.  Ben-Ion$oh.  Iok:Marstom. 


AT  LONDON 

Printed  for  WittUm  zAftlg. 
l  6  o  y. 


SOURCES    OF    EASTWARD    HOE 

The  seekers  after  sources  find  no  immediate  model  for  Eastward 
Hoe.  For  the  ultimate  source  of  the  underlying  idea  of  Eastivard 
Hoe  we  must  look  to  the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son,  a  favorite 
theme  with  the  continental  humanists  of  the  Renaissance,  and  from 
them  directly  transferred  into  the  earlier  English  drama.  Aside 
from  Palsgrave's  translation  of  Acolastus,  which  was  employed  as  a 
Latin  school-book  as  early  as  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  this  theme 
enters  into  The  Nice  Wanton,  an  interlude  of  the  succeeding  reign, 
into  Misogonus,  which  has  been  variously  dated  between  1537  and 
1560,  and  into  Ingeland's  Disobedient  Child,  which  belongs  close 
to  the  latter  date.  This  parable  reached  an  elaboration  of  form, 
not  surpassed  in  the  play  before  us,  in  Gascoigne's  excellent  school 
drama,  The  Glasse  of  Government,  1 575.  Were  we  seeking  par- 
allels —  a  search  too  easily  made  to  assume  more  than  its  actual 
importance  —  we  could  find  in  Gascoigne's  play  "  hints  and  sug- 
gestions "  to  satisfy  a  delicately  adjusted  sense  for  the  eternal  like- 
ness of  things.  Chief  among  them  is  the  circumstance  that  in  both 
plays  the  idle  boy  is  tried  for  his  misdemeanors  before  the  industrious 
lad,  now  become  a  magistrate.  On  the  other  hand,  the  authors  of 
Eastivard  Hoe  have  lightened  their  play  of  all  the  old  didactic  fur- 
niture and  transformed  a  disquisition  on  morality  in  dramatic  form 
into  a  vivacious  comedy  of  manners. 


[DRAMATIS   PERSON^1 

Touchstone,  a  goldsmith. 

Quicksilver,  )  .  „, 

>-  y  apprentices  to  Touchstone. 

CtOLDING,  j      '  r 

Sir  Petronel   Flash,  a  shifty  knight. 
Security,  an  old  usurer. 
Bramble,  a  lawyer. 
Seagull,  a  sea  captain. 

SCAPETHRIFT,   )       ,  .  ,  ,    ,       ...      .    . 

o  y  adventurers  bound  for  Virginia. 

Slitgut,  a  butcher's  apprentice. 

Poldavy,  a  tailor. 

Holdfast,  )    a-  c  ,     ,-, 

TTr  }  officers  or  the  Counter. 

Wolf,         j 

Hamlet,  a  footman. 

Potkin,  a  tankard-bearer. 

Toby,  a  prisoner.3 

Drawer. 

Mistress  Touchstone. 

Gertrude,  )  ,        ,       ,  „ 
.  ,  \  her  daughters. 

Mildred,     j  & 

Winifred,  wife  of  Security. 
Sindefy,  mistress  to  Quicksilver. 
Bettrice,  a  waiting-woman. 
Mrs.    Ford,    Mrs.    Gazer,   Coachman,  Page,   Con- 
stable, Prisoners,  etc. 

Scene. — London  and  Thames-Side.] 

1  Supplied  by  Bullen.  2  Added  to  Bullen's  list. 


PROLOGUS 

Not  out  of  envy,  for  thers  no  effect 

Where  there's  no  cause ;   nor  out  of  imitation, 

For  we  have  evermore  bin  imitated; 

Nor  out  of  our  contention  to  doe  better 

Then  that  which  is  opposde  to  ours  in  title, 

For  that  was  good ;   and  better  cannot  be  : 

And  for  the  title,  if  it  seeme  affected, 

We  might  as  well  have  calde  it,  "  God  you  good 

even" 
Onely  that  east-ward  west-wards  still  exceedes,  — 
Honour  the  sunnes  faire  rising,  not  his  setting. 
Nor  is  our  title  utterly  enforste, 
As  by  the  points  we  touch  at  you  shall  see. 
Beare  with  our  willing  paines,  if  dull  or  witty ; 
We  onely  dedicate  it  to  the  Citty. 


CagttoarD  J^oe 


Actus  primus.     Scena  prima. 

[Goldsmiths'  Row.~\ 

Enter  Maister  Touch-stone  and  Quicksilver  at 
sever  all  dores ;  Quicksilver  with  his  hat, 
pumps,  short  sword  and  dagger,  and  a  racket 
trussed  up  under  his  cloake.  At  the  middle 
dore,  enter  Golding,  discovering  a  goldsmiths 
shoppe,  and  walking  short  turns  before  it. 

Touchstone.  And  whether  with  you  now  ?  what 
loose  action  are  you  bound  for  ?  Come,  what 
comrades  are  you  to  meete  withall  ?  whers  the 
supper?   whers  the  randevous  ? 

Quicksilver.  Indeed,  and  in  very  good  sober 
truth,  sir 

Touch.  u  Indeed,  and  in  very  good  sober  truth, 
sir!  "  Behinde  my  backe  thou  wilt  sweare  faster 
then  a  French  foot  boy,  and  talke  more  baud- 
ily  then  a  common  midwife ;  and  now  "  in- 
deed, and  in  very  good  sober  truth,  sir  !  "  but  if  a 
privie  search  should  be  made,  with  what  furniture 

Primus,  Qq.  primi. 


6  CasttoarD  J^oe  [act  i. 

are  you  riggd  now  ?    Sirrah,  I  tell  thee,  I  am  thy 
maister,   William  Tutchstone,  goldsmith ;  and 
thou  my  prentise,  Francis  Quick-silver,  and  I  will  15 
see  whether  you  are  running.      Worke  upon  that 
now. 

®)uick.  Why,  sir,  I  hope  a  man  may  use  his 
recreation  with  his  maisters  profit. 

Touch.   Prentises  recreations  are  seldome  with  20 
their  maisters    profit.      Worke   upon    that    now. 
You  shall  give   up  your  cloake,  tho  you  be  no 
alderman.      Heyday !     RufHns     Hall !     Sword, 
pumps,  heers  a  racket  indeed ! 

Touchstone  uncloakes  Quicksilver. 

£htick.    JVorke  upon  that  now.  2. 

Touch.  Thou  shamelesse  varlet !  dost  thou 
jest  at  thy  lawfull  maister,  contrary  to  thy  in- 
dentures ? 

®)uick.  Why  zblood,  sir!  my  mother's  a  gen- 
tle-woman, and  my  father  a  justice  of  peace  and  30 
of  quorum;  and  tho  I  am  a  yonger  brother  and 
a  prentise,  yet  I  hope  I  am  my  fathers  Sonne  ; 
and  by  Gods  lidde,  tis  for  your  worship  and  for 
your  commoditie  that  I  keepe  companie.  I  am 
intertaind  among  gallants,  true;  they  call  me  35 
coozen  Franke,  right ;  I  lend  them  monies,  good ; 
they  spend  it,  well.  But  when  they  are  spent, 
must  not  they  strive  to  get  more,  must  not  their 
land  flye  ?   and  to  whom  ?     Shall  not  your  wor- 


Scene  I]  (tettDatf)  1)00  7 

ship  ha  the  refusall  ?      Well,  I  am  a  good  mem-  4° 
ber  of  the  citty,  if  I  were  well  considered.     How 
would  merchants  thrive,  if  gentlemen  would  not 
be  unthriftes  ?  How  could  gentlemen  be  unthrifts 
if  their  humours  were  not  fed  ?      How  should 
their  humours  be  fedde  but  by  whit-meate,  and  45 
cunning   secondings  ?     Well,   the  cittie   might 
consider  us.      I  am  going  to  an  ordinary  now : 
the  gallants  fall  to  play ;   I  carry  light  golde  with 
me  ;  the  gallants  call,  "  Coozen  PVancke,  some 
golde   for  silver ;  "   I  change,  gaine   by  it ;   the  5° 
gallants  loose  the  gold,  and  then  call, "  Coozen 

Francke,  lend  me  some  silver."     Why 

Touch.    Why?    I   cannot   tell.      Seven   score 
pound  art  thou  out  in  the  cash  ;  but  looke  to  it, 
I  will  not  be  gallanted  out  of  my  monies.    And  55 
as  for  my  rising  by  other  mens  fall,  God  shield 
me  !    Did  I  gaine  my  wealth  by  ordinaries  ?   no : 
by  exchanging  of  gold  ?   no  :   by  keeping  of  gal- 
lants company  ?  no.      I  hired  me  a  little  shop, 
fought   low,   tooke   small   gaine,   kept   no   debt  60 
booke,  garnished  my  shop,  for  want  of  plate, 
with    good    wholesome    thriftie    sentences;   as, 
Touchstone,  keepe  thy  shopp,  and  thy  shoppe  will 
keepe   thee ;    Light   gaines    makes    heavy   purses ; 
Tis  good  to  be  merry  and  ivise.     And    when    I  65 
was  wiv'd,  having  something  to  stick  too,-I  had 
the  home  of  suretiship   ever  before   my   eyes. 


8  easttoarD  Jjoe  [act  i. 

You  all  know  the  devise  of  the  home,  where 
the  young  fellow  slippes  in  at  the  butte  end,  and 
comes  squesd  out  at  the  buckall :  and  I  grew  up,  70 
and  I  praise  Providence,  I  beare  my  browes  now 
as  high  as  the  best  of  my  neighbours  :   but  thou 

well,  looke  to   the  accounts;  your  fathers 

bond  lyes  for  you  :   seven  score  pound  is  yet  in 
the  reere.  75 

£)uick.  Why  slid,  sir,  I  have  as  good,  as  pro- 
per gallants  wordes  for  it  as  any  are  in  London 
— gentlemen  of  good  phrase,  perfect  language, 
passingly  behav'd  ;  gallants  that  weare  socks  and 
cleane  linnen,  and  call  me  "  kinde  coozen  80 
Francke,"  "  good  coozen  Francke,"  for  they 
know  my  father  :  and,  by  Gods  lidde  shall  I  not 
trust  'hem  ? — not  trust  ? 

Enter  a  Page,  as  inquiring  for  Touch-stones 
shoppe. 

Golding.    What  doe   yee  lacke,  sir  ?      What 
ist  you'le  buye,  sir  ?  85 

Touch.  I,  marry  sir ;  there's  a  youth  of  another 
peece.  There's  thy  fellowe-prentise,  as  good  a 
gentleman  borne  as  thou  art :  nay,  and  better 
mean'd.  But  dos  he  pumpe  it,  or  racket  it  ? 
Well,  if  he  thrive  not,  if  he  out-last  not  a  hun-  90 
dred  such  crackling  bavins  as  thou  art,  God  and 
men  neglect  industrie. 


Scene  I]  (totfojatf)  fl?0e  9 

Gold.    It  is  his  shop,  and  here  my  M  [aister] 
walkes.  To  the  Page. 

Touch.    With  me,  boy  ? 

Page.    My  Maister,  Sir  Petronel    Flash,  re-  95 
commends    his  love  to  you,  and  will  instantly 
visite  you. 

Touch.    To  make  up  the  match  with  my  eld- 
est daughter,  my  wives  dilling,  whom  she  longs 
to  call  maddam.     He  shall  finde  me  unwillingly  ioo 
readie,  boy.  Exit  Page. 

Ther's  another  affliction  too.  As  I  have  two 
prentises,  the  one  of  a  boundlesse  prodigalitie, 
the  other  of  a  most  hopefull  industrie,  so  have 
I  onely  two  daughters:  the  eldest,  of  a  proud  105 
ambition  and  nice  wantonnesse  ;  the  other,  of  a 
modest  humilitie  and  comely  sobernesse.  The 
one  must  bee  ladyfied,  forsooth,  and  be  attir'd 
just  to  the  court-cut  and  long  tayle.  So  farre  is 
she  ill  naturde  to  the  place  and  meanes  of  my  no 
preferment  and  fortune,  that  shee  throwes  all  the 
contempt  and  dispight  hatred  it  selfe  can  cast 
upon  it.  Well,  a  peece  of  land  she  has ;  'twas 
her  grandmothers  gift ;  let  her,  and  her  Sir  Pe- 
tronel, flash  out  that;  but  as  for  my  substance,  115 
shee  that  skornes  mee,  as  I  am  a  citizen  and 
trades-man,  shall  never  pamper  her  pride  with  my 

113   'twas,  Q2  t'was. 


io  CastfcoarD  J?oe  [acti. 

Industrie ;  shall  never  use  me  as  men  doe  foxes, 
keepe  themselves  warme  in  the  skinne,  and 
throwe  the  body  that  bare  it  to  the  dung-hill.  120 
I  must  goe  intertaine  this  Sir  Petronell.  Gould- 
ing,  my  utmost  care's  for  thee,  and  onely  trust  in 
thee ;  looke  to  the  shoppe.  As  for  you,  Maister 
Quick-silver,  thinke  of  huskes,  for  thy  course  is 
running  directly  to  the  prodigalls  hogs  trough  5125 
huskes,  sra  !      IVorke  upon  that  now. 

Exit  Touch\_stone~\. 
Hjhiick.    Mary  fough,  goodman  flat-cap  !  sfoot ! 
tho  I  am  a  prentise,  I  can  give  armes ;  and  my  fa- 
ther's a  justice  a  peace  by  discent,  and  zbloud 

Gold.    Fye,  how  you  sweare  !  130 

£>uick.  Sfoote,  man,  I  am  a  gentleman,  and 
may  sweare  by  my  pedegree.  Gods  my  life  ! 
Sirrah  Goulding,  wilt  be  ruled  by  a  foole  ?  Turne 
good  fellow,  turne  swaggering  gallant,  and  let  the 
welkin  roare,  and  Erebus  also.  Looke  not  west- 135 
ward  to  the  fall  of  Dan  Phoebus,  but  to  the  east 
— Eastward  hoe ! 

Where  radiant  beanies  of  lusty  Sol  appeare. 
And  bright  Eous  makes  the  ivelkin  cleare. 

We  are  both  gentlemen,  and  therefore  should  be  140 
no  coxcombes;  lets  be  no  longer  fooles  to  this 

128   and  my  father,  Q3  omits  and. 
136   Dan,  <2q  :   Don. 


Scene  I. ]  (totfcOarD  f$Qt  II 

flat-cap,  Touchstone.  Eastward,  bully,  this  sattin 
belly  !  And  canvas  backt  Touchstone  —  slife, 
man  !  his  father  was  a  malt-man,  and  his  mother 
sould  ginger-bread  in  Christ-church.  145 

Gold.    What  would  yee  ha  me  doe  ? 

£)uick.  Why,  do  nothing,  be  like  a  gentle- 
man, be  idle;  the  cursse  of  man  is  labour.  Wipe 
thv  bum  with  testones,  and  make  duckes  and 
drakes  with  shillings.  What,  Eastward  hoe!  15° 
Wilt  thou  crie,  "  What  ist  yee  lack  ?  "  stand  with 
a  bare  pate  and  a  dropping  nose,  under  a  wod- 
den  pent-house,  and  art  a  gentleman  ?  Wilt 
thou  beare  tankards,  and  maist  beare  armes  ? 
Be  rul'd;  turne  gallant;  Eastward  hoe!  ta  lyiss 
re,  ly  re  ro  !  Who  calls  Jeronhno  ?  Speake,  here  I 
am.  Gods  so !  how  like  a  sheepe  thou  lookst : 
a  my  conscience,  some  cowheard  begot  thee, 
thou  Goulding  of  Goulding-hall  !      Ha,  boy  ? 

Gold.    Goe,  yee  are  a  prodigall  coxcombe  !   I  a  160 
cowheards  sonne,  because  I  turne  not  a  drunken, 
whore-hunting  rake-hell  like  thy  selfe  ! 

j-Pa/Vi.    Rakehell !   rakehell  ! 

Offers  to  draw,  and  Goulding  trips  up  his 
heeles  and  holds  him. 

Gold.    Pish,  in  soft  termes,  yee  are  a  cowardly, 
bragging  boy.      He  ha  you  whipt.  165 

ghiick.    Whipt  ? — thats    good,    ifaith  !      Un- 
trusse  me  ? 


1 2  (tottoatD  j^oe  [act  i. 

Gold.  No,  thou  wilt  undoe  thy  selfe.  Alas  ! 
I  behold  thee  with  pitty,  not  with  anger ;  thou 
common  shot-clog,  gull  of  all  companies;  meeiyo 
thinkes  I  see  thee  already  walking  in  Moore 
fields  without  a  cloake,  with  halfe  a  hatte,  with- 
out a  band,  a  doublet  with  three  buttons,  with- 
out a  girdle,  a  hose  with  one  point,  and  no  garter, 
with  a  cudgell  under  thine  arme,  borrowing  and  175 
begging  three  pence. 

£)uick.  Nay,  slife  !  take  this  and  take  all ;  as 
I  am  a  gentleman  borne,  He  be  drunke,  grow 
valiant,  and  beate  thee.  Exit. 

Gold.    Goe,  thou  most  madly  vaine,  whom  180 
nothing  can   recover  but  that  which  reclaimes 
atheists,  and  makes  great  persons  sometimes  re- 
ligious— calamitie.     As  for  my  place  and  life, 
thus  I  have  read  : — 

What  ere  some  vainer  youth  may  terme  disgrace,     185 
The  gaine  of  honest  paines  is  never  base  ; 
From  trades,  from  artes,from  valor,  honor  springs, 
These  three  are  founts  of  gentry,  yea,  of  kings. 


Scene  II]  CaStCOafD  $)Ot  1 3 

[Actus  primus.     Scena  secunda.     A  Room  in 
Touchstone's  Mouse. .] 

Enter  Girtred,  Mildrid,  Bettrice,  and  Poldavy  a 
taylor ;  Poldavy  with  a  faire  gowne,  Scotch 
varthingall  and  French  fall  in  his  amies ; 
Girt\_r~\ed  in  a  French  head  attire,  and  citti- 
zens  gowne ;  Mildred  sewing,  and  Bettrice 
leading  a  monkey  after  her. 

Gertrude.  For  the  passion  of  patience,  looke 
if  Sir  Petronell  approach — that  sweet,  that  fine, 
that  delicate,  that — for  loves  sake,  tell  me  if  he 
come.  O  sister  Mill,  though  my  father  be  a  low 
capt  tradsman,  yet  I  must  be  a  lady  ;  and  I  praise  5 
God  my  mother  must  call  me  Madam.  Does 
he  come  ?  Off  with  this  gowne,  for  shames 
sake,  off  with  this  gowne  :  let  not  my  knight  take 
me  in  the  citty  cut  in  any  hand  :  tear't,  pax  ont 
(does  he  come  ?)  tear't  of.  Thus  whilst  shee  10 
sleepes,  I  sorrow  for  her  sake,  &c. 

Mildred.   Lord,  sister,  with  what  an  immodest 
impaciencie  and  disgracefull  scorne  doe  you  put 
off  your  citty  tier ;   I  am   sorrie  to  thinke  you 
imagin  to  right  your  selfe  in  wronging  that  which   15 
hath  made  both  you  and  us. 

Ger.  I  tell  you  I  cannot  indure  it,  I  must  be 
a  lady  :  do  you  weare  your  quoiffe  with  a  Lon- 
don licket,   your  stammell  petticoate  with  two 

6  Madam,  Qz  Medam.  19  stammell,  Q3  stamen. 


14  Casttoaru  S?oe  [act  i. 

guardes,  the  buffin   gowne  with  the  tuf-taffitie  20 
cape,  and  the  velvet  lace.     I  must  be  a  lady,  and 
I  will  be  a  lady.    I  like  some  humors  of  the  Cittie 
dames  well :   to  eate  cherries  onely  at  an  angell 
a  pound,  good  ;  to  dye  rich  scarlet  black,  pretty ; 
to  line  a  grogaram  gowne  cleane  thorough  with  25 
velvet,  tollerable  ;  their  pure  linnen,  their  smocks 
of  3.  li.  a  smock,  are  to  be  borne  withall.     But 
your  minsing  niceryes,  taffata  pipkins,  durance 
petticotes  and  silver  bodkins — Gods  my  life,  as 
I  shall  be  a  lady,  I  cannot  indure  it !     Is  hee  30 
come  yet  ?     Lord,  what  a  long  knight  tis  !     And 
ever  shee  cride,  Shoute  home !    And  yet   I   knew 
one  longer;   And  ever  she  cryde,  Shoute  home,  fa, 
la,  ly,  re,  lo,  la  ! 

Mill.   Well,   sister,   those  that   scorne   their  35 
nest,  oft  flye  with  a  sicke  wing. 

Ger.  Boe-bell ! 

Mill.  Where  titles  presume  to  thrust  before 
fit  meanes  to  second  them,  wealth  and  respect 
often  growe  sullen,  and  will  not  follow.  For  40 
sure  in  this,  I  would  for  your  sake  I  spake  not 
truth:  Where  ambition  of  place  goes  before  ftnesse 
of  birth,  contempt  and  disgrace  follow.  I  heard  a 
scholler  once  say  that  Ulisses,  when  he  counter- 
feited himselfe  madde,  yoakt  cattes  and  foxes  45 
and  dogges  togither  to  draw  his  plowe,  whilst  he 

33  Shoute  home,  Q3  Shout  home;   Bullcn  guesses,  Shoot  home. 


Scene  II]  (totfcOatf)  fyOt  1 5 

followed  and  sowed  salt ;  but  sure  I  judge  them 
truely  madde,  that   yoake   citizens    and   court- 
iers,   trades   men   and    souldiers,    a    goldsmiths 
daughter  and  a  knight.     Well,  sister,  pray  God  5° 
my  father  sowe  not  salt  too. 

Ger.  Alas  !  poore  Mil,  when  I  am  a  lady,  He 
pray  for  thee  yet,  ifaith  :  nay,  and  He  vouch- 
safe to  call  thee  Sister  Alii  still ;  for  though  thou 
art  not  like  to  be  a  lady  as  I  am,  yet  sure  thou  55 
art  a  creature  of  Gods  making  ;  and  mayest  par- 
adventure  to  bee  sav'd  as  soone  as  I  (dos  he 
come  ?).  And  ever  and  anon  she  doubled  in  her 
song.  Now,  ladyes  my  comfort,  what  prophane 
ape's  here  ?  Tailer,  Poldavis,  prethee,  fit  it,  fit  6o 
it :  is  this  a  right  Scot  ?  Does  it  clip  close, 
and  beare  up  round  ? 

Poldavy.  Fine  and  stifly,  ifaith ;  twill  keepe 
your  thighes  so  coole,  and  make  your  waste  so 
small ;  here  was  a  fault  in  your  bodie,  but  I  have  65 
supplyed  the  defect,  with  the  effect  of  my  Steele 
instrument,  which,  though  it  have  but  one  eye, 
can  see  to  rectifie  the  imperfection  of  the  pro- 
portion. 

Ger.   Most  aedefying  tailer !      I   protest   you   70 
tailers  are  most  sanctified  members,  and  make 
many  [a]  crooked  thing  goe  upright.    How  must 
I  beare  my  hands  ?   light  ?   light  ? 

72  Many  [<z]  crooked  thing,  the  Quartos  omit  a. 


1 6  Casttoaru  Hjoe  [acti. 

Pold.   O  I,  now  you  are  in  the  lady-fashion, 
you  must  doe  all  things  light.    Tread  light,  light.  75 
I,  and  fall  so :   that's  the  court-amble. 

She  trips  about  the  stage. 
Ger.   Has  the  Court  nere  a  trot  ? 
Pold.   No,  but  a  false  gallop,  ladie. 
Ger.   And  if  she  will  not  goe  to  bed — 

Cantat. 
Bettrice.   The  knight's  come,  forsooth.  80 

Enter  Sir  Petronell,  M\astef\    Touch-stone,  and 
Mistris  Touchstone. 

Ger.  Is  my  knight  come  ?  O  the  Lord,  my 
band !  Sister,  doo  my  cheekes  looke  well  ? 
Give  me  a  little  boxe  a  the  eare,  that  I  may 
seeme  to  blush ;  now,  now  !  So,  there,  there, 
there  !  Here  he  is.  O  my  dearest  delight !  Lord,  85 
Lord  !   and  how  dos  my  knight  ? 

Touch.   Fie  !   with  more  modestie. 

Ger.   Modestie  !   why,  I  am  no  cittizen  now, 
— modestie  !      Am  I  not  to  bee  married  ?  y'are 
best  to  keepe  me  modest,  now  I   am  to  be  a  90 
ladie. 

Sir  Petronel.      Boldnes    is  good  fashion   and 
courtlike. 

Ger.   I,  in  a  countrie  ladie  I   hope  it  is,  as  I 
shall  be.     And  how  chaunce  ye  came  no  sooner,  95 
knight  ? 

Sir  Pet.  Faith,  I  was  so  intertaind  in  the  pro- 


Scene  II]  fettoatU  fyOt  17 

gresse  with  one  Count  Epernoum,  a  Welch 
knight ;  wee  had  a  match  at  baloone,  too,  with 
my  Lord  Whachum,  for  foure  crownes.  i°° 

Ger.  At  baboone  ?  Jesu  !  you  and  I  will  play 
at  baboone  in  the  countrey,  knight. 

Sir  Pet.  O,  sweet  lady  !  tis  a  strong  play  with 
the  arme. 

Ger.   With  arme  or  legge,  or  any  other  mem- 105 
ber,  if  it  bee  a  court-sport.      And  when   shal's 
be  married,  my  knight  ? 

Sir  Pet.  I  come  now  to  consumate  it ;  and 
your  father  may  call  a  poore  knight,  Sonne  in 
law.  1 10 

Touch.  Sir,  ye  are  come  ;  what  is  not  mine  to 
keepe  I  must  not  be  sorry  to  forgoe.  A  100 
li.  land  her  grandmother  left  her  ;  tis  yours  :  her 
selfe  (as  her  mothers  gift)  is  yours.  But  if  you 
expect  ought  from  me,  know,  my  hand  and  mine  115 
eyes  open  together;  I  doe  not  give  blindly. 
Worke  upon  that  now. 

Sir  Pet.  Sir,  you  mistrust  not  my  meanes  ? 
I  am  a  knight. 

Touch.   Sir,  sir,  what  I  know  not,  you  will  give  120 
me  leave  to  say  I  am  ignorant  of. 

Mistress  Touch.  Yes,  that  he  is  a  knight ;  I 
know  where  he  had  money  to  pay  the  gentle- 
men ushers  and  heralds  their  fees.  I,  that  he  is 
a  knight,  and   so  might  you  have  beene  too,  if  125 


1 8  tettoaru  $?oe  [act  i. 

you  had  beene  ought  else  then  an  asse,  as  well 
as  some  of  your  neighbours.  And  I  thought  you 
would  not  ha  beene  knighted,  as  I  am  an  honest 
woman,  I  would  ha  dub'd  you  my  self.  I  praise 
God  I  have  wherewithall.  But  as  for  you,  130 
daughter 

Ger.  I,  mother,  I  must  bee  a  ladie  to  morrow  ; 
and  by  your  leave,  mother  (I  speake  it  not  with- 
out my  dutie,  but  onely  in  the  right  of  my  hus- 
band), I  must  take  place  of  you,  mother.  135 

Mistress  Touch.  That  you  shall,  lady-daughter, 
and  have  a  coach  as  well  as  I  too. 

Ger.  Yes,  mother.      But  by  your  leave,  mo- 
ther, (I  speake  it  not  without  my  dutie,  but  onely 
in  my  husbands    right),  my  coach-horses  must  140 
take  the  wall  of  your  coach-horses. 

Touch.  Come,  come,  the  day  growes  low;  tis 
supper  time ;  use  my  house ;  the  wedding  so- 
lemnitie  is  at  my  wifes  cost ;  thanke  mee  for 
nothing  but  my  willing  blessing ;  for,  I  cannot  145 
faine,  my  hopes  are  faint.  And,  sir,  respect  my 
daughter ;  shee  has  refus'd  for  you  wealthy  and 
honest  matches,  knowne  good  men,  well  monied, 
better  traded,  best  reputed. 

Ger.    Boddy  a  truth!    chittizens,  chittizens  !  150 
Sweet  knight,  as  soone  as  ever  wee  are  married, 
take  mee  to  thy   mercie  out  of  this  miserable 


Scene  II]  (tottoatD  8)00  19 

chittie ;  presently  carry  mee  out  of  the  sent  of 
New-castle  coale,  and  the  hearing  of  Boe-bell ; 
I  beseech  thee  downe  with  me,  for  God  sake  !    155 

Touch.  Well,  daughter,  I  have  read  that  olde 
wit  sings  :  — 

The  greatest  rivers  flotv  from  little  springs : 
Though  thou  art  full,  skorne  not   thy  meanes  at 

first, 
He  that's  most  drunke  may  soonest  be  a  thirst.         160 

Worke  upon  that  now. 

All  but  Touch-stone,  Mildred,  and  Goulding 
depart. 
No,  no  !  yond'  stand  my  hopes.  Mildred,  come 
hither,  daughter.  And  how  approve  you  your 
sisters  fashion  ?  how  doe  you  phantsie  her  choyce  ? 
what  dost  thou  thinke  ?  ,6S 

Mil.   I  hope  as  a  sister,  well. 

Touch.  Nay  but,  nay,  but  how  dost  thou  like 
her  behaviour  and  humour  ?      Speake  freely. 

Mil.  I  am  loath  to  speake  ill ;  and  yet  I  am 
sorry  of  this,  I  cannot  speake  well.  170 

Touch.  Well ;  very  good,  as  I  would  wish  ;  a 
modest  answere.  Goulding, come  hither;  hither, 
Golding.  How  dost  thou  like  the  knight,  Sir 
Flash  ?  dos  he  not  looke  bigge  ?  howe  likst  thou 

xbzyond',  Qz  yon'd. 


20  Casttoara  tyot  [act  i. 

the  elephant?  he  sayes  he  has  a  castle  in  the 1 75 
countrey. 

Gold.  Pray  heaven,  the  elephant  carry  not  his 
castle  on  his  backe. 

Touch.  Fore  heaven,  very  well !  But  seriously, 
how  dost  repute  him  ?  180 

Gold.  The  best  I  can  say  of  him  is,  I  know 
him  not. 

Touch.  Ha,  Goulding !  I  commend  thee,  I 
approve  thee,  and  will  make  it  appeare  my  affec- 
tion is  strong  to  thee.  My  wife  has  her  humour,  185 
and  I  will  ha'  mine.  Dost  thou  see  my  daughter 
here  ?  Shee  is  not  faire,  well-favoured  or  so,  in- 
different, which  modest  measure  of  beautie  shall 
not  make  it  thy  onely  worke  to  watch  her,  nor 
sufficient  mischaunce  to  suspect  her.  Thou  art  190 
towardly,  shee  is  modest ;  thou  art  provident, 
shee  is  carefull.  Shee's  nowe  mine ;  give  me 
thy  hand,  shee's  now  thine.  Worke  upon  that 
now. 

Gold.  Sir,  as  your  sonne,  I  honour  you;  and  195 
as  your  servant,  obey  you. 

Touch.  Sayest  thou  so  ?  Come  hither,  Mil- 
dred. Doe  you  see  yond'  fellow  ?  He  is  a  gentle- 
man, tho  my  prentise,  and  has  somewhat  to  take 
too  ;  a  youth  of  good  hope  ;  well  friended,  wel  200 
parted.  Are  you  mine  ?  You  are  his.  Worke 
you  upon  that  now. 

186   ha  ,  Qz  ha.  1 98  yond',  Q2  yon'd. 


Scene  II]  CaSttOaiU  H?OC  21 

Mil.   Sir,  I  am  all  yours  ;  your  body  gave  mee 
life ;  your  care  and  love,  hapinesse  of  life ;  let 
your  vertue  still  direct  it,  for  to  your  wisedom  1 205 
wholy  dispose  my  selfe. 

Touch.  Sayst  thou  so  ?  Be  you  two  better 
acquainted.  Lip  her,  lip  her,  knave.  So,  shut 
up  shop  :   in.      We  must  make  holiday. 

Ex\eunf\  Gol\ding\  and  Mil[dred.~^ 

This  match  shal  on,  for  I  intend  to  proove  210 

Which  thrives  the  best,  the  meane  or  loftie  love. 
Whether  fit  wedlock  vowd  twixt  like  and  like, 
Or  prouder  hopes,  which  daringly  ore  strike 
Their  place  and  meanes.      Tis  honest  times  expence, 
When  see fning  lightnesse  beares  a  morrall  sense.       215 

Worke  upon  that  now.  Exit. 

215   morrall,  Q3  mortall. 


ACTUS  SECUNDUS. 

Scena  Prima. 

[Goldsmiths'  Row.~\ 

Touchstone^  Quickesilver  ;    Goulding  and  Mil- 
dred sitting  on  eyther  side  of  the  stall. 

Touchstone.  Quickesilver,  Maister  Frances 
Quickesilver,  Maister  Quickesilver  ! 

Enter  Quickesilver. 

Quicksilver.   Here,  sir;  (ump). 

Touch.  So,    sir ;    nothing    but    flat    Maister 
Quickesilver  (without  any  familiar  addition)  will     5 
fetch  you  ;  will  you  trusse  my  points,  sir  ? 

®)uick.   I,  forsooth  ;   (ump). 

Touch.  How  now,  sir,  the  druncken  hyckop 
so  soone  this  morning  ? 

®hcick.  Tis  but  the  coldnesse  of  my  stomacke,  10 
forsooth. 

Touch.  What,  have  you  the  cause  naturall 
for  it  ?  Y'  are  a  very  learned  drunckerd  :  I  be- 
leeve  I  shall  misse  some  of  my  silver  spoones 

SecunduSy  (,)q.  Secundi. 


scene  i.  ]  (tettoart)  H?oe  23 

with  your  learning.      The  nuptiall  night  will  not  15 
moisten  your  throate  sufficiently,  but  the  morn- 
ing  likewise  must    raine    her   dews    into   your 
gluttonous  wesand. 

£htick.   An't  please  you,  sir,  we  did  but  drinke 
(ump)  to  the  comming  off  of  the  knightly  bride-  20 
grome. 

Touch.   To  the  comming  off  an'  him  ? 

®)uick.  I,  forsooth,  we  druncke  to  his  com- 
ming on  (ump),  when  we  went  to  bed  ;  and  now 
we  are  up,  we  must  drinke  to  his  comming  off:  25 
for  thats  the  chiefe  honour  of  a  souldier,  sir ;  and 
therfore  we  must  drinke  so  much  the  more  to  it, 
forsooth  :   (ump). 

Touch.  A  very  capitall  reason  !      So  that  you 
goe  to  bed  late,  and  rise  early  to  commit  drunk-  30 
ennesse ;  you  fullfill  the  scripture  very  sufficient 
wickedly,  forsooth. 

®)uick.  The  knights  men,  forsooth,  be  still 
a  their  knees  at  it  (ump),  and  because  tis  for  your 
credit,  sir,  I  wold  be  loth  to  flinch.  35 

Touch.  I  pray,  sir,  een  to  'hem  againe  then  ; 
y'  are  one  of  the  seperated  crew,  one  of  my 
wives  faction,  and  my  young  ladies,  with  whom, 
and  with  their  great  match,  I  wil  have  nothing 
to  do.  40 

£htick.  So,  sir,  now  I  will  go  keepe  my  (ump) 
credit  with  'hem,  an't  please  you,  sir. 


24  CasttoarD  J?oc  [act  n. 

Touch.   In  any  case,  sir,  lay  one  cup  of  sack 
more  a'  your  cold  stomack,  I  beseech  you. 

ghiick.   Yes,  forsooth.         Exit  Quicksilver. ~\  45 
Touch.   This  is   for  my  credit ;   servants  ever 
maintaine  drunkennesse  in  their  maisters  house 
for  their  maisters  credit ;  a  good  idle  serving- 
mans  reason.      I  thanke  time  the  night  is  past ; 
I   nere  wakt  to   such  cost ;   I  thinke  we  have   50 
stowd   more  sorts  of  flesh  in   our  bellies  then 
ever  Noahs  arke  received ;  and  for  wine,  why 
my  house  turnes  giddie  with  it,  and  more  noise 
in  it  then  at  a  conduict.      Aye  me,  even  beasts 
condemne  our  gluttonie  !      Well,  'tis  our  citties  55 
fault,  which,  because  we  commit  seldome,  we 
commit  the  more  sinfully ;   wee  lose  no  time  in 
our  sensualitie,  but  we  make  amends  for  it.      O 
that  we  would   do   so   in  vertue   and  religious 
negligences  !      But   see,  here  are   all   the  sober  60 
parcels    my  house    can   showe ;   He   eavesdrop, 
heare  what  thoughts  they  utter  this  morning. 

\_Touchstone  withdraws  to  one  side,  Golding  and 
Mildred  come  forward.^ 

Golding.   But   is   it   possible  that  you,  seeing 
your  sister  preferd  to  the  bed  of  a  knight,  should 
containe  your  affections  in  the  armes  of  a  pren-  65 
tice  ? 

[Touchstone  withdraws],  Qq.:  Enter  Gouldxng. 


Scene  I]  (tottOarD  fyOt  25 

Mildred.  I  had  rather  make  up  the  garment 
of  my  affections  in  some  of  the  same  peece,  then, 
like  a  foole,  weare  gownes  of  two  coulours,  or 
mix  sackcloth  with  sattin.  70 

Gold.  And  doe  the  costly  garments,  the  title 
and  fame  of  a  lady,  the  fashion,  observation,  and 
reverence  proper  to  such  preferment,  no  more 
enflame  you  then  such  convenience  as  my 
poore  meanes  and  industrie  can  offer  to  your  75 
vertues  ? 

Mil.  I  have  observ'd  that  the  bridle  given  to 
those  violent  flatteries  of  fortune  is  seldome  re- 
cover'd  ;  they  beare  one  headlong  in  desire  from 
one  noveltie  to  another,  and  where  those  rang-  80 
ing  appetites  raigne,  there  is  ever  more  passion 
then  reason  :  no  staye,  and  so  no  happinesse. 
These  hastie  advancements  are  not  naturall. 
Nature  hath  given  us  legges  to  goe  to  our  ob- 
jects ;  not  wings  to  flie  to  them.  85 

Gold.  How  deare  an  object  you  are  to  my 
desires  I  cannot  expresse  ;  whose  fruition  would 
my  maisters  absolute  consent  and  yours  vouch- 
safe me,  I  should  be  absolutely  happy.  And 
though  it  were  a  grace  so  farre  beyond  my  merit,  90 
that  I  should  blush  with  unworthinesse  to  re- 
ceive it,  yet  thus  farre  both  my  love  and  my 
meanes  shall  assure  your  requitall :  you  shall 
want  nothing  fit  for  your  birth  and  education  j 


26  (tettoatf)  $?oe  [act  n. 

what  encrease  of  wealth  and  advancement  the  95 
honest  and  orderly  industrie  and  skill  of  our 
trade  will  affoorde  in  any,  I  doubt  not  will  be 
aspirde  by  me  ;  I  will  ever  make  your  content- 
ment the  end  of  my  endevours  ;  I  will  love  you 
above  all;  and  onely  your  griefe  shall  be  my  100 
miserie,  and  your  delight  my  felicitie. 

Touch.  Worke  upon  that  now.  By  my  hopes, 
he  woes  honestly  and  orderly  ;  he  shalbe  anchor 
of  my  hopes.  Looke,  see  the  ill  yoakt  monster, 
his  fellow  !  105 

Enter  Quickesilver  unlac'd,  a  towell  about  his 
necke,  in  his  flat  cap,  drunke. 

£hiick.  Eastward  hoe !  Holla,  ye  pampered 
jades  of  Asia  ! 

Touch.  Drunke  now  downe  right,  a  my  fideli- 
tie  ! 

Ghtick.   Am    pum    pull    eo,    pullo !    showse,no 
quot  the  caliver. 

Gold.  Fie,  fellow  Quickesilver,  what  a  pickle 
are  you  in  ! 

£htick.  Pickle  ?  Pickle  in  thy  throate  ;  zounes, 
pickell  !      Wa,  ha,  ho  !    good  morow,  knight  Pe-115 
tronell :    morow,  lady   Gouldsmith ;    come    of, 
knight,  with  a   counterbuff,   for  the   honor  of 
knighthood. 

97  trade,  Q2  ttade. 


Scene  I.]  (tettoatU  $?0f  27 

Gold.  Why,  how  now,  sir  ?  Doe  yee  know 
where  you  are  ? 

Quick.  Where  I  am  ?  Why,  sbloud  !  you  joult- 
head,  where  I  am  ! 

Gold.  Go  to,  go  to,  for  shame  ;  go  to  bed  and 
sleepe  out  this  immodestie  :  thou  sham'st  both 
my  maister  and  his  house.  125 

Quick.  Shame  ?  what  shame  ?  I  thought  thou 
wouldst  show  thy  bringing  up  ;  and  thou  wert  a 
gentleman  as  I  am,  thou  wouldst  thinke  it  no 
shame  to  be  drunke.  Lend  me  some  money, 
save  my  credit;  I  must  dine  with  the  serving- 130 
men  and  their  wives — and  their  wives,  sirha  ! 

Gold.  E'ene  who  you  will ;  He  not  lend  thee 
three  pence. 

Quick.  Sfoote  •,  lend  me  some  money  ;  hast 
thou  not  Hyren  here  ?  135 

Touch.  Why,  how  now,  sirha  ?  what  vain's 
this,  hah  ? 

Quick.  Who  cries  on  murther  ?  Lady  ivas  it 
you  ?  How  does  our  maister  ?  Pray  thee  crie 
Eastward  hoe  !  I40 

Touch.  Sirha,  sirrha,  y'are  past  your  hickup 
now  ;   I  see  y'are  drunke, — 

Quick.  Tis  for  your  credit,  maister. 

Touch.  And    heare   you    keepe    a   whore    in 


towne. 


Quick.  Tis  for  your  credit,  maister. 


'45 


28  CasttoarD  fyot  [act  il 

Touch.  And   what  you   are   out  in  cashe,  I 
know. 

Quick.   So  do    I ;   my   father's   a   gentleman. 
Worke  upon  that  now.      Eastward  hoe  !  i50 

Touch.  Sir,  Eastward  hoe  will  make  you  go 
Westward  ho.  I  will  no  longer  dishonest  my 
house,  nor  endanger  my  stocke  with  your  licence. 
There,  sir,  there's  your  indenture ;  all  your 
apparell  (that  I  must  know)  is  on  your  back,  155 
and  from  this  time  my  doore  is  shut  to  you  : 
from  me  be  free ;  but  for  other  freedome,  and 
the  moneys  you  have  wasted,  Eastward  ho  shall 
not  serve  you. 

Quick.  Am  I  free  a  my  fetters  ?      Rente,  flyei6o 
with  a  duck  in  thy  mouth ;  and  now  I  tell  thee, 
Touchstone 

Touch.   Good  sir 


Quick.    When    this    eternall    substance    of  my 

soule — 
Touch.   Well   said;   chandge  your  gould  ends  165 
for  your  play  ends. 

Quick.   Did   live    bnprison'd    in    my    wanton 

flesh- 
Touch.   What  then,  sir  ? 
Quick.   I  was  a  courtier  in  the  Spanish  Court, 

And  Don  Andrea  was  my  name.  170 

149  father 's ,  Qz  fathers. 

160  free  a  my  fetters,  Qz  free  a,  my  fetters. 


Scene  I.]  CaSttiJart)  H?OC  20, 

Touch.  Good  Maister  Don  Andrea,  will  you 
marche  ? 

Hjhtick.  Sweete  Touchstone,  will  you  lend  me 
two  shillings  ? 

Touch.  Not  a  penny.  I75 

£)uick.  Not  a  penny  ?  I  have  friends,  and 
I  have  acquaintance ;  I  will  pisse  at  thy  shop 
posts,  and  throw  rotten  egges  at  thy  signe. 
Worke  upon  that  now.  Exit  staggering. 

Touch.   Now,   sirha,    you!   heare  you?    you  180 
shall  serve  me  no  more  neither — not  an  houre 
longer. 

Gould.  What  meane  you,  sir  ? 

Touch.  I  meane  to  give  thee  thy  freedome, 
and  with  thy  freedome  my  daughter,  and  with  185 
my  daughter  a  fathers  love.  And  with  all  these 
such  a  portion  as  shall  make  Knight  Petronell 
himselfe  envie  thee !  Y'are  both  agreed,  are 
yee  not  ? 

Ambo.   With  all   submission,  both  of  thanks  190 
and  dutie. 

Touch.   Well  then,  the  great  powre  of  heaven 
blesse  and  confirme  you.      And,  Goulding,  that 
my  love  to  thee   may  not  showe  lesse  then  my 
wives  love  to  my  eldest  daughter,  thy  manage^ 
feast  shall  equall  the  knights  and  hers. 

Gold.  Let  me  beseech  you,  no,  sir ;  the  super- 

177  piste,  23  passe. 


30  Casttoam  j?oe  [act  n. 

fluitie  and  colde  meate  left  at  their  nuptialls  will 
with  bountie  furnish  ours.  The  grossest  prodi- 
gallitie  is  superfluous  cost  of  the  bellye  ;  nor 200 
would  I  wish  any  invitement  of  states  or  friendes, 
onely  your  reverent  presence  and  witnesse  shall 
sufficiently  grace  and  confirme  us. 

Touch.  Sonne  to  mine  owne  bosome  take  her 
and  my  blessing.  The  nice  fondling,  my  lady  205 
sir-reverence,  that  I  must  not  nowe  presume  to 
call  daughter,  is  so  ravish't  with  desire  to  han- 
sell  her  new  coche,  and  see  her  knights  East- 
ward Castle,  that  the  next  morning  will  sweate 
with  her  busie  setting  foorth.  Awaye  will  shee2io 
and  her  mother,  and  while  their  preparation  is 
making,  our  selves,  with  some  two  or  three  other 
friends,  will  consumate  the  humble  matche  we 
have  in  Gods  name  concluded. 

Tis  to  ??iy  wish,  for  I  have  often  read,  2I5 

Fit  birth,  fit  age,  keepes  long  a  quiet  bed. 
Tis  to  my  wish ;  for  tradesmen,  well  tis  knowne, 
Get  with  more  ease  then  gentrie  keepes  his  owne. 

[Exeunt.] 

[Exeunt],  Qq.  Exit. 


Scene  II]  CaStijOarD  $)Qt  3 1 

[Actus  Secundus.     Scena  Secunda.     A 
Room  in  Security's  House.l^ 

Securitie  solus. 

Security.  My  privie  guest,  lustie  Quickesilver, 
has  drunke  too  deepe  of  the  bride-boule;  but 
with  a  little  sleepe,  he  is  much  recovered;  and, 
I  thinke,  is  making  himselfe  readie  to  be  drunke 
in  a  gallanter  likcnes.  My  house  is  as  'twere  5 
the  cave  where  the  yong  out-lawe  hoords  the 
stolne  vayles  of  his  occupation  ;  and  here,  when 
he  will  revell  it  in  his  prodigall  similitude,  he 
retires  to  his  trunks,  and  (I  may  say  softly)  his 
punks  :  he  dares  trust  me  with  the  keeping  of  10 
both  ;  for  I  am  securitie  it  selfe ;  my  name  is 
Securitie,  the  famous  usurer. 

Enter  Quickesilver  in  his  prentises  cote  and  cap, 
his  gallant  breeches  and  stockings,  gartering 
himselfe. 

Quicksilver.   Come,  old  Securitie,  thou  father 
of   destruction  !   th'    indented    sheepeskinne    is 
burn'd  wherein   I   was  wrapt;  and  I  am   now  15 
loose,  to  get  more  children  of  perdition  into  thy 
usurous  bonds.      Thou  feed'st  my  lecherie,  and 

5    'tzvere,  Qz  t'were. 

Gartering  himself,  both  Qq.  add  Securitie  following. 

I  6,  1 7   thy  usurous,  £>3  my  usurous. 


32  (tottoarti  $?oe  [act  n. 

I  thy  covetousnes ;  thou  art  pandar  to  me  for 
my  wench,  and   I  to   thee   for  thy  coosenages. 
K.  me,  K.  thee,  runnes  through  court  and  coun-  20 
trey. 

Sec.  Well  said,  my  subtle  Quickesilver ! 
These  K's  ope  the  dores  to  all  this  worldes 
felicitie  :  the  dullest  forehead  sees  it.  Let  not 
mast[er]  courtier  thinke  he  carries  all  the  25 
knavery  on  his  shoulders  :  I  have  knowne  poore 
Hob,  in  the  countrie,  that  has  worne  hob-nayles 
on's  shoes,  have  as  much  villanie  in  's  head  as  he 
that  weares  gold  bottons  in  's  cap. 

ghtick.   Why,  man,  tis  the  London  high-way  3° 
to  thrift ;  if  vertue  bee  used,  tis  but  as  a  scrappe 
to  the  nette  of  villanie.      They  that  use  it  sim- 
plie,  thrive   simplie,   I   warrant.      Waight   and 
fashion  makes  goldsmiths  cockolds. 

Enter  Syndefie,  with  ^uicke-silvers  doublet, 
cloake,  rapier,  and  dagger. 

Sindefy.   Here,  sir,  put  of  the  other  halfe  of  35 

your  prentiship. 
£htick.   Well   sayd,  sweet  Syn.      Bring  forth 
my  braverie. 
Now  let  my  truncks  shoote   foorth   their  silkes 
concealde 

18  I  thy  covetousnes,  Q3  omits  /  and  reads  covetouines. 
31  but  as  a  scrappe,  (^3  but  a  scape. 


Scene  II]  (tottoatt)  U?OC  33 

I  now  am  free,  and  now  will  Justine 

My  trunkes  and  punkes.     Avant,  dull  flat-cap, 

then !  40 

Via,  the  curtaine  that  shaddowed  Borgia  ! 
There  lie,  thou  huske  of  my  envassail'd  state, 
I,  Sampson,  now  have  burst  the  Philistins  bands, 
And  in  thy  lappe,  my  lovely  Dalila, 
He  lie,  and  snore  out  my  enfranchisde  state.         45 

When  Sampson  tuas  a  tall  yong  man, 

His  power  and  strength  increased  than  ; 

He  sould  no  more  nor  cup  nor  can ; 

But  did  them  all  despise. 

Old  'Touchstone,  now  write  to  thy  friends  50 

For  one  to  sell  thy  base  gold  ends ; 

Shiickesilver  now  no  more  attends 

Thee,  Touchstone. 

But,  dad,  hast  thou  seene  my  running  gelding 
drest  to  day  ?  55 

Sec.  That  I  have,  Franck.     The  ostler  a'th' 
Cocke  drest  him  for  a  breakefast. 

Ghtick,   What,  did  he  eate  him  ? 

Sec.   No,  but  he  eate  his  breakfast  for  dress- 
ing him  ;  and  so  drest  him  for  breakfast.  60 

£hiick.    O  wittie  age!   where  age  is  young  in 
witte, 
And  al  youths  words  have  gray  beards  full  of  it  ! 

44  Dalila,  Qq.  Delida. 

50  write,  Q2  vvright  ;   Q3  writ. 


34  (tettoarij  fyot  [act  n. 

Sin.  But  ahlas,  Francke  !  how  will  all  this 
bee  maintain'd  now  ?  Your  place  maintain'd 
it  before.  65 

Quick.  Why,  and  I  maintainde  my  place. 
He  to  the  court :  another  manner  of  place  for 
maintenance,  I  hope,  then  the  silly  Cittie.  I 
heard  my  father  say,  I  heard  my  mother  sing  an 
olde  song  and  a  true  :  <T\]^ou  art  a  shee  foole,  70 
and  know' st  not  what  belongs  to  our  male  wisdome. 
I  shallbee  a  marchaunt,  for-sooth :  trust  my 
estate  in  a  wooden  troughe  as  hee  does  !  What 
are  these  shippes  but  tennis  balles  for  the  windes 
to  play  withall  ?  tost  from  one  wave  to  another ;  75 
nowe  under-line,  nowe  over  the  house ;  some- 
times brick-wal'd  against  a  rocke,  so  that  the 
guttes  flye  out  againe  ;  sometimes  strooke  under 
the  wide  hazzard,  and  farewell,  Mast  [er]  Mar- 
chant.  80 

Sin.  Well,  Francke,  well :  the  seas  you  say, 
are  uncertaine  :  but  hee  that  sayles  in  your  court 
seas  shall  finde  'hem  tenne  times  fuller  of  haz- 
zard ;  wherein  to  see  what  is  to  bee  seene  is 
torment  more  then  a  free  spirite  can  indure ;  85 
but  when  you  come  to  suffer,  howe  many  in- 
juries swallowe  you  !  What  care  and  devotion 
must  you  use  to  humour  an  imperious  lord,  pro- 

63   Sin.    But   ahlas,    <,)2   llyn.    But  ah-las ;    23  Secur.     But 
ahlas  Fracke. 


Scene  II]  (totttoafO  fi?O0  35 

portion  your  lookes  to  his  lookes,  smiles  to  his 
smiles ;   fit    your    sayles    to    the   winde   of  his  90 
breath  ! 

£)uick.  Tush  !   hee's   no  journey-man   in  his 
craft  that  cannot  doe  that. 

Sin.   But  hee's  worse  then  a  prentise  that  does 
it ;  not  onely  humouring  the  lorde,  but  every  95 
trencher-bearer,  every   groome,  that   by   indul- 
gence and  intelligence  crept  into  his  favour,  and 
by  pandarisme  into  his  chamber;  he  rules  the 
roste ;  and  when   my  honourable  lorde  sayes  it 
shall  bee  thus,  my  worshipfull  rascall,  the  groome  100 
of  his  close  stoole,  sayes  it  shall  not  bee  thus, 
claps  the  doore  after  him,  and  who  dares  enter  ? 
A  prentise,  quoth  you  ?      Tis  but  to  learne  to 
live ;  and  does  that  disgrace  a  man  ?     Hee  that 
rises  hardly,  stands  firmely  ;   but  hee  that  rises  105 
with  ease,  alas  !   falles  as  easily. 

ghtick.  A  pox  on  you  !   who  taught  you  this 
morallitie  ? 

Sec.  Tis  long  of  this  wittie  age,  Maister 
Francis.  But,  indeede,  Mistris  Synndefie,  all  no 
trades  complaine  of  inconvenience,  and  there- 
fore tis  best  to  have  none.  The  marchaunt,  hee 
complaines  and  sayes,  "  Trafficke  is  subject  to 
much  uncertaintie  and  losse ; "  let  'hem  keepe 
their  goods  on  dry  land,  with  a  vengeaunce,  and  115 
not  expose  other  mens  substances  to  the  mercie 


36  (EasttoarD  J?oe  [act  ii. 

of  the  windes,  under  protection  of  a  woodden  wall 
(as  Maister  Francis  sayes)  ;  and  all  for  greedie 
desire  to  enrich  themselves  with  unconscionable 
gaine,  two  for  one,  or  so;  where  I,  and  such  120 
other  honest  men  as  live  by  lending  money,  are 
content  with  moderate  profit,  thirtie  or  fortie 
i'th'hundred,  so  wee  may  have  it  with  quietnesse, 
and  out  of  perrill  of  winde  and  weather,  rather 
then  runne  those  daungerous  courses  of  trading,  125 
as  they  doe.  [Exit  Sindefy.~\ 

ghiick.   I,  dad,  thou  mayst  well  bee  called  Se- 
curitie,  for  thou  takest  the  safest  course. 

Sec.   Faith,  the  quieter,  and  the  more   con- 
tented, and,  out  of  doubt,  the  more  godly  ;   for  130 
marchants,  in  their  courses,  are  never  pleas'd, 
but  ever   repining  against  heaven  :  one  prayes 
for  a  westerly  winde,  to  carry  his  shippe  foorth  ; 
another  for  an  easterly,  to  bring  his  shippe  home, 
and  at  every  shaking  of  a  leafe  hee  falles  into  135 
an  agonie,  to  thinke  what  daunger  his  shippe  is 
in  on  such  a  coast,  and  so  foorth.      The  farmer, 
hee  is  ever  at  oddes  with  the  weather :   some- 
times the  clowdes  have  beene  too  barren  ;  some- 
times  the   heavens   forgette   themselves;    their  140 
harvests  answere  not  their  hopes  ;  sometimes  the 
season  falles  out  too  fruitefull,  corne  will  beare 
no  price,  and   so  foorth.     Th'  artificer,  hee's 


Scene  II]  €Z8t\BWfo  fyOt  37 

all  for  a  stirring  worlde  :  if  his  trade  bee  too 
full,  and  fall  short  of  his  expectation,  then  fallesHS 
he  out  of  joynt.  Where  we  that  trade  nothing 
but  money  are  free  from  all  this  ;  we  are  pleas'd 
with  all  weathers,  let  it  raine  or  hold  up,  be 
callme  or  windy  ;  let  the  season  be  whatsoever, 
let  trade  goe  how  it  will,  wee  take  all  in  good  150 
part,  een  what  please  the  heavens  to  send  us, 
so  the  sunne  stand  not  still,  and  the  moone 
keepe  her  usuall  returnes,  and  make  up  dayes, 
moneths  and  yeares. 

Quick.     And  you  have  good  securitie  ?  155 

Sec.    I,  mary,    Francke,  that's    the    speciall 
point. 

Quick.  And  yet,  forsooth,  wee  must  have 
trades  to  live  withall  ;  for  wee  cannot  stand 
without  legges,  nor  flye  without  wings,  and  a  160 
number  of  such  skurvie  phrases.  No,  I  say 
still,  hee  that  has  wit,  let  him  live  by  his  wit ; 
hee  that  has  none,  let  him  be  a  trades-man. 

Sec.  Witty  Maister  Francis !  tis  pittie  any 
trade  should  dull  that  quicke  braine  of  yours.  165 
Doe  but  bring  Knight  Petronell  into  my  parch- 
ment toyles  once,  and  you  shall  never  neede 
to  toyle  in  any  trade,  a  my  credit.  You  know 
his  wives  land  ? 

Quick.  Even  to  a  foote,  sir ;  I  have   beenei7° 

144  his  trade,  Q3  this  trade. 


38  (tottoaro  fyot  [act  ii. 

often  there  ;  a  pretie  fine  seate,  good  land,  all 
intire  within  it  selfe. 

Sec.   Well  wooded  ? 

^htick.    Two    hundered    pounds    woorth    of 
wood  readye  to  fell,  and  a  fine   sweete  house,  175 
that  stands  just  in  the  midst  an't,  like  a  pricke 
in  the  midst  of  a  circle  ;  would   I  were  your 
farmer,  for  a  hundred  pound  a  yeere  ! 

Sec.  Excellent  M  [aster]  Francis  !  how  I  do 
long  to  doe  thee  good  !  How  I  doe  hunger  andiSo 
thirst  to  have  the  honour  to  inrich  thee !  I,  even 
to  die, that  thou  mightest  inherite  my  living:  even 
hunger  and  thirst  !  For,  a  my  religion,  M  [aster] 
Francis, — and  so  tell  Knight  Petronell — I  doe 
it  to  doe  him  a  pleasure.  i85 

^uick.  Marry,  dad,  his  horses  are  now  com- 
ming  up  to  beare  downe  his  ladie  ;  wilt  thou 
lend  him  thy  stable  to  set  'hem  in  ? 

Sec.    Faith,   M  [aster]     Francis,   I  would   be 
lothe    to    lend   my   stable   out   of   dores ;    in  a  190 
greater  matter  I  will  pleasure  him,  but  not  in 
this. 

£hiick.  A  pox  of  your  hunger  and  thirst  !  Well, 
dad,  let  him  have  money  ;  all  he  could  any  way 
get  is  bestowed  on  a  ship  now  bound  for  Vir-195 
ginia  ;  the  frame  of  which  voiage  is  so  closely 
convaide  that  his  new  ladie  nor  any  of  her 
friendes  know  it.    Notwithstanding,  as  soone  as 


Scene  II]  CBStfcOarD  fyOt  39 

his  ladyes  hand   is   gotten    to   the   sale  of  her 
inheritance,   and   you    have    furnisht    him  with  200 
money,  he  will  instantly  hoyst  saile  and  away. 

Sec.  Now  a  franck  gale  of  winde  goe  with 
him,  Maister  Franke  !  we  hav  too  few  such 
knight  adventurers  ;  who  would  not  sell  away 
competent  certainties  to  purchase,  with  any  dan-205 
ger,  excellent  uncertainties  ?  Your  true  knight 
venturer  ever  does  it.  Let  his  wife  seale  to 
day  ;   he  shall  have  his  money  to  day. 

Quick.  To  morrow  she  shall,  dad,  before  she 
goes  into  the  country;  to  worke  her  to  which  210 
action  with  the  more  engines,  I  purpose  pre- 
sently to  preferre  my  sweete  Sinne  here  to  the 
place  of  her  gentlewoman  ;  whom  you  (for  the 
more  credit)  shall  present  as  your  friends  daugh- 
ter, a  gentlewoman  of  the  countrie,  new  come  21 5 
up  with  a  will  for  a  while  to  learne  fashions 
forsooth,  and  be  toward  some  ladie  ;  and  she 
shall  buzz  prettie  devices  into  her  ladies  eare ; 
feeding  her  humors  so  serviceable,  as  the  man- 
ner of  such  as  she  is,  you  know, —  220 

Sec.  True,  good  Maister  Fraunces. 

Enter  Syndefie. 

Quick.  That  she  shall  keepe  her  port  open  to 
any  thing  she  commends  to  her. 

Sec.  A'  my  religion,  a  most  fashionable  pro- 


4°  (tottoaru  H?oe  [act  ii. 

ject ;  as  good  she  spoile  the  lady,  as  the  lady  225 
spoile  her  ;   for  'tis  three  to  one   of  one   side. 
Sweete  Mistresse  Sinne,  how  are  you  bound  to 
Maister  Frances  !     I  doe  not  doubt  to  see  you 
shortly  wedde  one  of  the  head  men  of  our  cittie. 

Sin.    But,  sweete  Franke,  when  shall  my  fa-2,0 
ther  Securitie  present  me  ? 

6)uick.  With  all  festination  ;  I  have  broken 
the  ice  to  it  already  ;  and  will  presently  to  the 
knights  house,  whether,  my  good  old  dad,  let 
me  pray  thee,  with  all  formallitie  to  man  her.     235 

Sec.  Commaund  me,  Maister  Frances,  /  doe 
hunger  and  thirst  to  doe  thee  service.  Come, 
sweete  Mistresse  Sinne,  take  leave  of  my  Wyn- 
nifride,  and  we  will  instantly  meete  francke 
Maister  Frances  at  your  ladies.  240 

Enter  Winnifride  above. 

Winifred.   Where  is  my  Cu  there  ?  Cu  ? 

Sec.   I  Winnie. 

Win.   Wilt  thou  come  in,  sweete  Cu  ? 

Sec.   I  Wynney,  presently. 

Exeunt  [  Winifred  above,  Security  and  Syn- 
defie  below  ^ 

Ghiick.  "  I  Wynney,"  quod  he ;  thats  all  he  24s 
can  doe,  poore  man,  he  may  well  cut  off  her 
name  at  Wynney.    O,  tis  an  egregious  pandare  ! 
What  will  not  an  usurous  knave  be,  so  he  may 


Scene  III]  CaSttDarD  l^OC  41 

bee  riche  ?  O,  'tis  a  notable  Jewes  trump  !  I 
hope  to  live  to  see  dogs  meate  made  of  the  old  250 
usurers  flesh,  dice  of  his  bones,  and  indentures 
of  his  slcinne  ;  and  yet  his  skinne  is  too  thicke 
to  make  parchment,  'twould  make  good  bootes 
for  a  peeter  man  to  catch  salmon  in.  Your 
onely  smooth  skinne  to  make  fine  vellam,  1S255 
your  Puritanes  skinne  ;  they  be  the  smoothest 
and  slickest  knaves  in  a  countrie.  [iix/V] 


[Actus  Secundus,  Scena  Tertia.     Before  Sir 
Petronei's  Lodging^ 

Enter  Sir  Petronell  in  bootes,  with  a  riding  wan 
[folloived  by  Quicksilver^ . 

Petronel.  He  out  of  this  wicked  towne  as  fast 
as  my  horse  can  trot  !  Here's  now  no  good 
action  for  a  man  to  spend  his  time  in.  Tav- 
erns growe  dead  ;  ordinaries  are  blowne  up  ; 
playes  are  at  a  stand  ;  howses  of  hospitallitie  at 
a  fall ;  not  a  feather  waving,  nor  a  spurre  gin- 
gling  any  where.      He  away  instantlie. 

Shiick.  Y'ad  best  take  some  crownes  in  your 
purse,  knight,  or  else  your  Eastward  Castle  will 
smoake  but  miserably.  j 

Pet.  O,  Francke  !  my  castle  ?  Alas  !  all  the 
castles  I  have  are  built  with  ayre,  thou  know'st. 


42  CasttoarD  l?oe  [act  11. 

Quick.  I  know  it,  knight,  and  therefore  won- 
der whether  your  lady  is  going. 

Pet.  Faith,  to  seeke  her  fortune,  I  thinke.  I  15 
said  I  had  a  castle  and  land  eastward,  and  east- 
ward she  will,  without  contradiction  ;  her  coach 
and  the  coach  of  the  sunne  must  meete  full 
butt.  And  the  sunne  being  out  shined  with 
her  ladyships  glorie,  she  feares  hee  goes  west-  20 
ward  to  hange  himselfe. 

Quick.  And  I  feare,  when  her  enchanted  cas- 
tle becomes  invisible,  her  ladyship  will  returne 
and  follow  his  example. 

Pet.  O,  that  she  would   have  the  grace  !  for  25 
I  shall  never  be  able   to  pacifie  her,  when  she 
sees  her  selfe  deceived  so. 

Quick.  As  easely  as  can  be.  Tell  her  she 
mistooke  your  directions,  and  that  shortly  your 
selfe  will  downe  with  her  to  approove  it ;  and  30 
then  cloath  but  her  croupper  in  a  new  gowne, 
and  you  may  drive  her  any  way  you  list.  For 
these  women,  sir,  are  like  Essex  calves,  you 
must  wriggle  'hem  on  by  the  tayle  still,  or  they 
will  never  drive  orderly.  35 

Pet.  But,  alas,  sweet  Francke  !  thou  know'st 
my  habilitie  will  not  furnish  her  bloud  with  those 
costly  humors. 

Quick.  Cast  that  cost  on  me,  sir.  I  have 
spoken  to  my  olde  pandare,  Securitie,  for  money  40 


Scene  III]  CaSfttDatt)  $)0t  43 

or  commoditie  ;  and  commoditie  (if  you  will)  I 
know  he  will  procure  you. 

Pet.   Commoditie  !   Alas  !   what  commoditie  ? 

Quick.  Why,  sir,  what  say  you  to  figges  and 
raysons  ?  45 

Pet.  A  plague  of  figges  and  raysons,  and  all 
such  fraile  commodities  !  We  shall  make  no- 
thing of  'hem. 

Quick.  Why  then,  sir,  what  say  you  to  fortie 
pound  in  rosted  beefe  ?  50 

Pet.  Out  upon  't,  I  have  lesse  stomacke  to 
that  then  to  the  figges  and  raysons  ;  He  out  of 
towne,  though  I  sojourne  with  a  friend  of  mine, 
for  staye  here  I  must  not ;  my  creditors  have 
laide  to  arrest  me,  and  I  have  no  friend  under  55 
heaven  but  my  sword  to  baile  me. 

Quick.  Gods  me,  knight,  put  'hem  in  suffi- 
cient sureties,  rather  than  let  your  sworde  bayle 
you  !  Let  'hem  take  their  choice,  eyther  the 
Kings  Benche  or  the  Fleete,  or  which  of  the  60 
two  Counters  they  like  best,  for,  by  the  Lord,  I 
like  none  of  'hem. 

Pet.   Well,  Francke,  there  is  no  jesting  with 
my  earnest  necessitie;  thou  know'st  if  I  make 
not  present  money  to  further  my  voyage  begun,  65 
all's  lost,  and  all  I  have  laid  out  about  it. 

Quick.  Why  then,  sir,  in  earnest,  if  you  can 
get  your  wise  lady  to  set    her   hand    to  the  sale 

68  ivise  lady,  Q3  wife  lady. 


44  tottoart)  $?oe  [act  ii. 

of  her  inheritance,  the  bloud  hound,  Securitie, 
will  smell  out  ready  money  for  you  instantly.       7o 

Pet.  There  spake  an  angell :  to  bring  her  too 
which  conformitie,  I  must  faine  my  selfe  ex- 
treamly  amorous  ;  and  alledging  urgent  excuses 
for  my  stay  behinde,  part  with  her  as  passion- 
ately as  she  would  from  her  foysting  hound.  75 

£)uick.  You  have  the  sowe  by  the  right  eare, 
sir.  I  warrant  there  was  never  childe  longd 
more  to  ride  a  cock-horse  or  weare  his  new 
coate  then  she  longs  to  ride  in  her  new  coache. 
She  would  long  for  every  thing  when  she  was  a  80 
maide,  and  now  she  will  runne  mad  for  'hem. 
I  laye  my  life,  she  will  have  every  yeare  foure 
children ;  and  what  charge  and  change  of 
humour  you  must  endure  while  she  is  with 
childe,  and  how  she  will  tie  you  to  your  tackling  85 
till  she  be  with  child,  a  dog  would  not  endure. 
Nay,  there  is  no  turne-spit  dog  bound  to  his 
wheele  more  servily  then  you  shall  be  to  her 
wheele ;  for,  as  that  dogge  can  never  climbe 
the  top  of  his  wheele  but  when  the  toppe  comes  90 
under  him,  so  shall  you  never  clime  the  top  of 
her  contentment  but  when  she  is  under  you. 

Pet.   Slight,  how  thou  terrifiest  me  ! 

®)uick.   Nay,   harke   you,   sir ;    what    nurses, 
what  midwives,  what   fooles,  what    phisitions,  95 
what  cunning  women  must  be  sought  for  (fear- 


Scene  III]  CaSftfctJarD  C?0C  45 

ing  sometimes  she  is  bewitcht,  some  times  in  a 
consumption),  to  tell  her  tales,  to  talke  bawdy 
to  her,  to  make  her  laughe,  to  give  her  glisters, 
to  let  her  bloud  under  the  tongue  and  betwixt  ioo 
the  toes  ;  how  she  will  revile  and  kisse  you,  spit 
in  your  face,  and  lick  it  off  againe ;  how  she 
will  vaunt  you  are  her  creature  ;  shee  made  you 
of  nothing ;  how  shee  could  have  had  thousand 
marke  joyntures ;  she  could  have  bin  made  a  105 
lady  by  a  Scotche  knight,  and  never  ha'  married 
him  ;  shee  could  have  had  poynados  in  her  bed 
every  morning ;  how  she  set  you  up,  and  how 
she  will  pull  you  downe  :  youle  never  be  able 
to  stand  of  your  legges  to  endure  it.  no 

Pet.  Out  of  my  fortune,  what  a  death  is 
my  life  bound  face  to  face  too  !  The  best  is, 
a  large  time-fitted  conscience  is  bound  to  no- 
thing :  marriage  is  but  a  forme  in  the  schoole  of 
policie,  to  which  schollers  sit  fastned  onely  with  115 
painted  chaines.  Old  Securities  young  wife  is 
nere  the  further  of  with  me. 

Quick.  Thereby  lyes  a  tale,  sir.  The  old 
usurer  will  be  here  instantly,  with  my  puncke 
Syndefie,  whome  you  know  your  lady  has  pro- 120 
mist  mee  to  entertaine  for  her  gentlewoman  ; 
and  he  (with  a  purpose  to  feede  on  you)  invites 
you  most  solemnly  by  me  to  supper. 

Pet.   It   falls  out  excellently  fitly  :   I  see  de- 
sire of  gaine  makes  jealousie  venturous.  125 


46  (tottoaru  ^oe  [act  n. 

Enter  Gyrt\_rude.~\ 

See,  Francke,  here  comes  my  lady.  Lord,  how 
she  viewes  thee  !  She  knowes  thee  not,  I  thinke, 
in  this  braverie. 

Ger.   How  now  ?   who  be  you,  I  pray  ? 

Quick.  One   Maister  Frances   Quickesilver,  130 
an't  please  your  ladiship. 

Ger.  Gods  my  dignitie  !  as  I  am  a  lady,  if 
he  did  not  make  me  blush  so  that  mine  eyes 
stood  a  water.  Would  I  were  unmaried 
againe !  135 

Enter  Securitie  and  Sindefie. 

Where's  my  woman,  I  pray  ? 

Quick.  See,  madam,  she  now  comes  to  at- 
tend you. 

Sec.  God  save  my  honourable  knight  and  his 
worshipfull  lady!  140 

Ger.  Y'are  very  welcome ;  you  must  not  put 
on  your  hat  yet. 

Sec.  No,  madam ;  till  I  know  your  ladyships 
further  pleasure,  I  will  not  presume. 

Ger.   And  is  this  a  gentlemans  daughter  new  145 
come  out  of  the  countrie  ? 

Sec.   She  is,  madam  ;  and  one  that  her  father 
hath  a  speciall  care  to  bcstowe  in  some  honour- 
able ladies  service,  to  put  her  out  of  her  honest 
humours,  forsooth ;  for  she  had  a  great  desire  to  150 
be  a  nun,  an't  please  you. 


Scene  III]  (tottoatf)  H?O0  47 

Ger.  A  nun  ?  what  nun  ?  a  nun  substantive  ? 
or  a  nun  adjective  ? 

Sec.  A  nun   substantive,  madam,   I  hope,  if 
a  nun  be  a  noune.      But  I  meane,  lady,  a  vowdiss 
maide  of  that  order. 

Ger.  He  teach  her  to  be  a  maide  of  the  order, 
I  warrant  you.  And  can  you  doe  any  worke 
belongs  to  a  ladyes  chamber  ? 

Sin.  What  I  cannot  doe,  madam,  I  would  bee  1 60 
glad  to  learne. 

Ger.  Well  said  ;  hold  up,  then  ;  hold  up  your 
head,  I  say ;  come  hether  a  little. 

Sin.   I  thanke  your  ladiship. 

Ger.  And  harke  you — good  man,  you  may  put  165 
on  your  hatt  now ;   I  doe  not  looke  on  you — I 
must  have  you  of  my  faction  now ;  not  of  my 
knights,  maide. 

Sin.   No,  forsooth,  madam,  of  yours. 

Ger.  And  draw  all  my  servants  in  my  bowe,  170 
and  keepe  my  counsell,  and  tell  me  tales,  and 
put  me  riddles,  and  reade  on  a  booke  sometimes 
when  I  am  busie,  and  laugh  at  countrie  gentle- 
women, and  command  any  thing  in  the  house 
for  my  reteiners  ;  and  care  not  what  you  spend,  175 
for  it  is  all  mine  ;  and  in  any  case  be  still  a  maide, 
what  soever  you  doe,  or  whatsoever  any  man  can 
doe  unto  you. 

Sec.   I  warrant  your  ladiship  for  that. 


48  (tettoaru  J?oe  [act  n. 

Ger.  Very  well;  you  shall  ride  in  my  coach 1 80 
with  me  into  the  country,  to  morrow  morning. 
Come,  knight,  I   pray  thee  lets  make  a  short 
supper,  and  to  bed  presently. 

Sec.  Nay,  good  madam,  this  night  I  have  a 
short  supper  at  home  waites  on  his  worships  185 
acceptation. 

Ger.  By  my  faith,  but  he  shall  not  goe,  sir ;  I 
shall  swoune  and  he  sup  from  me. 

Pet.  Pray  thee,  forbeare ;  shall  he  lose  his 
provision  ?  190 

Ger.  I,  by  ['r]  lady,  sir,  rather  then  I  lose  my 
longing.  Come  in,  I  say;  as  I  am  a  lady,  you 
shall  not  goe. 

£)uick.  I  told  him  what  a  burre  he  had 
gotten.  195 

Sec.  If  you  will  not  sup  from  your  knight, 
madam,  let  me  entreate  your  ladiship  to  sup  at 
my  house  with  him. 

Ger.  No,  by  my  faith,  sir;  then  we  cannot 
be  a  bed  soone  enough  after  supper.  200 

Pet.  What  a  medcine  is  this  !  Well,  Mais- 
ter  Securitie,  you  are  new  married  as  well  as  I ; 
I  hope  you  are  bound  as  well.  We  must  honour 
our  young  wives,  you  know. 

Quick.   In  pollicie,  dad,  till  to  morrow  she  has  205 
scald. 

191    by  [V]  lady,  Qq.  by  lady. 


Scene  III.]  (tottoattl  fyOZ  49 

Sec.   I  hope  in  the  morning  yet  your  knight- 
hood will  breake-fast  with  me  ? 
Pet.  As  early  as  you  will,  sir. 
Sec.    [I]  thanke  your  good  worship;  I  do  hun-210 
ger  and  thirst  to  do  you  good,  sir. 

Ger.   Come,  sweete  knight,  come  ;  I  do  hunger 
and  thyrst  to  be  a  bed  with  thee. 

Exeunt   [Gertrude   with   Petronel  and   Sin- 
defy  ;   Security  with  Quicksilver.^ 

210    /  thanke,  Qz  omits  I. 


ACTUS  TERTIUS. 

Scena  Prima. 

[Security's  House.] 

Enter  Petronell,  Quicksilver,  Securities  Bramble, 
and  Wynnifrid. 

Petronel.  Thankes  for  [y]our  feastlike  breake- 
fast,  good  Maister  Securitie;  I  am  sory  (by  rea- 
son of  my  instant  haste  to  so  long  a  voyage  as 
Virginia)  I  am  without  meanes  by  any  kinde 
amends  to  show  how  affectionatly  I  take  your  5 
kindnesse,  and  to  confirme  by  some  worthy  cere- 
monie  a  perpetuall  league  of  friendship  betwixt 
us. 

Security.  Excellent  knight !  let  this  be  a  token 
betwixt  us  of  inviolable  friendship.  I  am  new  10 
marryed  to  this  fayre  gentlewoman,  you  know; 
and  by  my  hope  to  make  her  fruitefull,  though 
I  be  something  in  yeares,  I  vowe  faithfully  unto 
you  to  make  you  godfather,  though  in  your  ab- 
sence, to  the  first  childe  I  am  blest  withall;  and   15 

Tertius,  Qq.  Tertii. 

I  your  f castlike  breakefast,  Q2  our,  Q3  your. 


Scene  I.  ]  (tettOart)  $)0t  51 

henceforth  call  me  gossip,  I  beseech  you,  if  you 
please  to  accept  it. 

Pet.  In  the  highest  degree  of  gratitude,  my 
most  worthy  gossip  ;  for  confirmation  of  which 
friendly  title,  let  me  entreate  my  faire  gossip,  20 
your  wife  here,  to  accept  this  diamond,  and 
keepe  it  as  my  gift  to  her  first  childe,  whereso- 
ever my  fortune,  in  event  of  my  voyage,  shall 
bestowe  me. 

Sec.   How    now,    my   coye  wedlock ;     make  25 
you  strange  of  so  noble  a  favour  ?      Take  it,  I 
charge  you,  with  all  affection,  and,  by  way  of 
taking  your  leave,  present  boldly   your  lips  to 
our  honourable  gossip. 

ghiick.    [aside~\    How  ventrous  he  is  to  him,  30 
and  how  jealous  to  others  ! 

Pet.  Long  may  this  kinde  touch  of  our  lippes 
print  in  our  hearts  al  the  formes  of  affection. 
And  now,  my  good  gossip,  if  the  writings  be 
ready  to  which  my  wife  should  seale,  let  them  35 
be  brought  this  morning  before  she  takes  coache 
into  the  countrie,  and  my  kindnesse  shall  worke 
her  to  dispatche  it. 

Sec.  The  writings  are  ready,  sir.     My  learned 
counsell  here,  Maister  Bramble  the  lawyer,  hath  40 
perusde  them  ;  and  within  this  houre  I  will  bring 
the  scrivenour  with  them  to  your  worshipfull 
lady. 


52  (tottoart)  J?oe  [act  hi. 

Pet.   Good  Maister  Bramble,  I  will  here  take 
my  leave  of  you  then.      God  send  you  fortunate  45 
pleas,  sir,  and  contentious  clients  ! 

Bramble.  And  you  foreright  windes,  sir,  and  a 
fortunate  voyage  !  Exit. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Messenger.  Sir  Petronell,  here  are  three  or 
foure  gentlemen  desire  to  speake  with  you.  50 

Pet.  What  are  they  ? 

®)uick.  They  are  your  followers  in  this  voy- 
age, knight :  Captaine  Seagull  and  his  associates; 
I  met  them  this  morning,  and  told  them  you 
would  be  here.  55 

Pet.  Let  them  enter,  I  pray  you ;  I  know 
they  long  to  bee  gone,  for  their  stay  is  danger- 
ous. 

Enter  Seagull,  Scapethrift,  and  Spendall. 

Seagull.   God  save  my  honourable  collonell ! 

Pet.  Welcome,  good  Captaine  Seagull,  and  60 
worthy  gentlemen.  If  you  will  meete  my  friend 
Francke  here,  and  me,  at  the  Blew  Anchor 
Taverne  by  Billinsgate  this  evening,  we  will 
there  drinke  to  our  happy  voyage,  be  merry, 
and  take  boate  to  our  ship  with  all  expedition.      65 

Spendall.   Deferre  it  no  longer,  I  beseech  you, 

66,  79  Spendall,  Qz  Spoyl ;  £3,  Spend. 


scene  i. ]  (tottoatt)  $x>e  53 

sir;  but  as  your  voyage  is  hetherto  carried 
closely,  and  in  another  knights  name,  so  for 
your  owne  safetie  and  ours,  let  it  be  continued : 
our  meeting  and  speedy  purpose  of  departing  70 
knowne  to  as  few  as  is  possible,  least  your  ship 
and  goods  be  attacht. 

^uick.  Well  advisd,  captaine ;  our  collonell 
shall  have  money  this  morning  to  dispatch  all 
our  departures  ;  bring  those  gentlemen  at  night  75 
to  the  place  appointed,  and,  with  our  skinnes 
full  of  vintage,  weele  take  occasion  by  the  van- 
tage, and  away. 

Spend.   We  will  not  faile  but  be  there,  sir. 

Pet.   Good  morrow,  good  captaine,  and  my  80 
worthy  associates.      Health  and  all  soveraigntie 
to  my  beautifull  gossip  ;   for  you,  sir,  we  shall 
see  you  presently  with  the  writings. 

Sec.  With  writings  and  crownes  to  my  hon- 
orable gossip.      /  do  hunger  and  thirst  to  doe  you  85 
good,  sir.  Exeunt. 

82   beautifull  gossip,  Q3  goship. 
84-85   honorable  gossip,  (^3  goship. 


54  (tottoaro  J?oe  [act  m. 

Actus  Tertius.     Scena  Secunda. 

\_An  Inn-yard.! 

Enter  a  Coachman  in  hast,  in' 's  frock,  feeding. 

Coachman.  Heer's  a  stirre  when  cittizens  ride 
out  of  towne,  indeed,  as  if  all  the  house  were 
afire !  Slight !  they  will  not  give  a  man  leave 
to  eat's  breakfast  afore  he  rises. 

Enter  Hamlet,  a  footeman,  in  haste. 

Hamlet.  What,  coachman  ?   My  ladyes  coach,     5 
for  shame  !    Her  ladiships  ready  to  come  downe. 

Enter  Potkinn,  a  tankerd  bearer. 

Potkin.  Sfoote,  Hamlet,  are  you  madde  ? 
Whether  run  you  now  ?  You  should  brushe  up 
my  olde  mistresse ! 

Enter  Syndefye. 

Sindefy.   What,  Potkinn  ?    You  must  put  off    10 
your  tankerd   and  put  on  your  blew  cote,  and 
waite   upon     Mistresse    Toochstone    into     the 
country.  Exit. 

Pot.   I  will,  forsooth,  presently.  Exit. 

Enter  Mistresse  Fond  and  Mistresse  Gazer. 

Fond.    Come,   sweete   Mistresse    Gazer,  lets  15 
watch  here,  and  see  my  Lady  Flashe  take  coach. 

Tertius,  Qq.  Tertii. 


Scene  II]  (tottOarD  $)0t  55 

Gazer.  A  my  word  heer's  a  most  fine  place 
to  stand  in  ;  did  you  see  the  new  ship  lancht 
last  day,  Mistresse  Fond  ? 

Fond.   O  God  !   and  we  cittizens  should  loose  20 
such  a  sight ! 

Gaz.  I  warrant  here  will  be  double  as  many 
people  to  see  her  take  coach  as  there  were  to 
see  it  take  water. 

Fond.   O  shee's  married  to  a  most  fine  castle  25 
i'  th'  countrey,  they  say. 

Ga.  But  there  are  no  gyants  in  the  castle,  are 
there  ? 

Fond.  O  no  :  they  say  her  knight  kild  'hem 
all,  and  therefore  he  was  knighted.  30 

Gaz.  Would  to  God  her  ladiship  would  come 
away  ! 

Enter  Gyr\jred~^,  Mistris  cTooch\jtone~\, 
Synd\_efy\,  Ham\_let],  Pot[kin~\. 

Fond.  She  comes,  she  comes,  she  comes! 

Gazer.  Fond.  Pray  heaven  blesse  your  ladiship ! 

Ger.   Thanke  you,  good  people.      My  coach,   35 
for  the  love  of  heaven,  my  coach  !      In  good 
truth  I  shall  swoune  else. 

Ham.   Coach,  coach,  my  ladies  coach !    Exit. 

Gertrude.   As  I  am  a  lady,  I  thinke  I  am  with 
child  already,  I  long  for  a  coach  so.      May  one  40 
be  with  childe  afore  they  are  married,  mother  ? 

*6   t*  tA'  countrey,  Q_q.   'ith'. 


5 6  Catfttoat*  *?oe  [act  in. 

Mist.  T.  I,  by'r  ladie,  madam ;  a  little  thing 
does  that ;  I  have  seene  a  little  prick  no  bigger 
then  a  pins  head  swell  bigger  and  bigger,  til  it 
has  come  to  an  ancome;  and  eene  so  tis  in  these  45 
cases. 

Enter  Ham[let.~] 

Ham.  Your  coach  is  comming,  madam. 
Ger.  That's   well  said.     Now,  heaven  !  me 
thinks  I  am  eene  up  to  the  knees  in  preferment. 

But  a  little  higher,  but  a  little  higher,  but  a  little  50 

higher, 
There,  there,  there  lyes  Cupids  fire  ! 

Mist.  T.  But  must  this  young  man,  an't 
please  you,  madam,  run  by  your  coach  all  the 
way  a  foote  ? 

Ger.  I,  by  my  faith,  I  warrant  him  ;  he  gives  55 
no    other    milke,    as    I    have    another    servant 
does. 

Mist.    T.    Ahlas  !   tis  eene  pittie,  me  thinks  ; 
for  Gods  sake,  madam,  buy  him  but  a  hobbie 
horse ;  let  the  poore  youth  have  something  be-  6c 
twixt  his  legges  to  ease  'hem.     Ahlas  !   we  must 
do  as  we  would  be  done  too. 

Ger.  Goe  too,  hold  your  peace,  dame ;  you 
talke  like  an  olde  foole,  I  tell  you ! 


scineii]  GaetlDarO  t?or  57 

Enter  Petr^oneQ  and  Quicksilver. 

Pet.  Wilt  thou  be  gone,  sweete  honny  suckle,  65 
before  I  can  goe  with  thee  ? 

Ger.  I  pray  thee,  sweete  knight,  let  me  ;   I  do 
so  long  to  dresse  up  thy  castle  afore  thou  com'st. 
But  I  marie  howe  my  modest  sister  occupies  her 
selfe  this  morning,  that  shee  cannot  waite  on  me  70 
to  my  coach,  as  well  as  her  mother. 

£>uick.   Mary,  madam,  shee's  married  by  this 
time  to  prentise   Goulding.      Your  father,  and 
some  one  more,  stole  to  church  with  'hem  in  all 
the  haste,  that  the  cold  meat  left  at  your  wed-  75 
ding  might  serve  to  furnish  their  nuptiall  table. 

Ger.  There's  no  base  fellowe,  my  father, 
nowe  ;  but  hee's  eene  fit  to  father  such  a  daugh- 
ter: he  must  call  me  daughter  no  more  now: 
but  "  madam,"  and  "  please  you,  madam  ;  "  and  80 
"  please  your  worship,  madam,"  indeede.  Out 
upon  him  !  marry  his  daughter  to  a  base  pren- 
tise ! 

Mist.  T.  What  should  one  doe  ?      Is  there 
no  lawe  for  one  that  marries  a  womans  daugh-  85 
ter  against  her  will  ?      Howe  shall  we  punish 
him,  madam  ? 

Ger.    As   I  am   a   lady,   an't   would   snowe, 
wee'd  so  peble  'hem  with  snowe  bals  as  they 

89  ivee'd,  Q3  weele. 


58  Casttoaru  fyot  [actih. 

come  from  church ;  but,  sirra  Franck  Quick-  90 
silver, — 

£)uick.   I,  madam. 

Ger.   Dost  remember  since  thou  and  I  clapt 
what  d'ye  calts  in  the  garrat  ? 

£)uick.   I  know  not  what  you  meane,  madam.   95 
Ger.  His  head  as  white  as  mylke, 
All  flaxen  was  his  haire  ; 
But  now  he  is  dead, 
And  laid  in  his  bedd, 

And  never  will  come  againe.  100 

God  be  at  your  labour ! 

Enter  Touch\_stone,~\  Gould  \_ing~],  Mild\red^\ 
with  rosemary. 

Pet.   Was  there  ever  such  a  lady  ? 

®)uick.  See,  madam,  the  bride  and  bridegrome  ! 

Ger.  Gods  my  precious  !  God  give  you  joy, 
Mistresse  What  lacke  you  !  Now  out  upon  105 
thee,  baggage  !  My  sister  married  in  a  taffeta 
hat !  Mary,  hang  you !  Westward  with  a 
wanion  te'yee !  Nay,  I  have  done  we  ye,  min- 
ion, then,  y'faith  ;  never  looke  to  have  my  coun- 
tenance any  more,  nor  anything  I  can  do  for  no 
thee.  Thou  ride  in  my  coach,  or  come  downe 
to  my  castle  !  fie  upon  thee  !  I  charge  thee  in 
my  ladiships  name,  call  me  sister  no  more. 

Touchstone.   An't  please  your  worship,  this   is 
not  your  sister:  this  is  my  daughter,  and  she  115 


Scene  II]  (tottoatt)  fiX*  59 

call[s]  me   father,  and  so  does  not  your  lady- 
ship, an't  please  your  worship,  madam. 

Mist.    T.    No,  nor  she   must   not   call    thee 
father   by   heraldrie,   because   thou    mak'st    thy 
prentise  thy   sonne  as  wel  as  she.      Ah,   thou  120 
misproude  prentise!  dar'st  thou  presume  to  marry 
a  ladies  sister  ? 

Gold.  It  pleas'd  my  master,  forsooth,  to  em- 
bolden me  with  his  favour ;  and  though  I  con- 
fesse  my  selfe  farre  unworthie  so  worthy  a  wife  125 
(beeing  in  part  her  servant,  as  I  am  your  pren- 
tise) yet  (since  I  may  say  it  without  boasting)  I 
am  borne  a  gentleman,  and  by  the  trade  I  have 
learn'd  of  my  master  (which  I  trust  taints  not 
my  blood),  able,  with  mine  owne  industrie  and  130 
portion,  to  maintaine  your  daughter,  my  hope 
is,  heaven  will  so  blesse  our  humble  beginning, 
that  in  the  end  I  shalbe  no  disgrace  to  the  grace 
with  which  my  master  hath  bound  me  his  double 
prentise.  i35 

Touch.   Master  me  no  more,  sonne,  if  thou 
think'st  me  worthy  to  be  thy  father. 

Ger.  Sunne  !  Now,  good  Lord,  how  he  shines ! 
And  you  marke  him,  hee's  a  gentleman  ! 

Gold.   I,  indeede,  madam,  a  gentleman  borne.  140 

Pet.   Never  stand   a'  your  gentrye,  M  [aster] 
Bridegrome ;   if  your  legges  be  no  better  then 

1 1 5   calls,  Qz  call,  Q3  cals. 

142    Bridegrome,  Q_q.  Bridgegrome. 


60  (tottoart)  J?0£  [Act  III. 

your  armes,  you'le  be  able  to  stand  up  on  nei- 
ther shortly. 

Touch.   An't  please  your  good  worshippe,  sir,  145 
there  are  two  sorts  of  gentlemen. 

Pet.  What  meane  you,  sir  ? 

Touch.  Bold  to  put  off  my  hat  to  your  wor- 
shippe  

Pet.  Nay,  pray  forbeare,  sir,  and  then  foorthiso 
with  your  two  sorts  of  gentlemen. 

Touch.   If  your  worship  will  have  it  so,  I  saye 
there  are  two  sorts  of  gentlemen.     There  is  a 
gentleman  artificiall,  and  a  gentleman  naturall. 
Now  though  your  worship  be  a  gentleman  nat-155 
urall — Worke  upon  that  now. 

Quick.  Well  said,  olde  Touch  ;  I  am  proude 
to  heare  thee  enter  a  set  speech,  yfaith  ;  forth, 
I  beseech  thee. 

Touch.   Cry  you  mercie,  sir,  your  worship's  160 
a  gentleman  I  doe  not  know.     If  you  bee  one 
of  my  acquaintance,  y'are  very  much  disguisde, 
sir. 

Quick.  Go  too,  old  quipper;  forth  with  thy 
speech,  I  say.  ^5 

Touch.  What,  sir,  my  speeches  were  ever  in 
vaine  to  your  gratious  worship  ;  and  therefore, 
till  I  speake,  to  you — gallantry  indeed  ! — I  will 
save  my  breath  for  my  broth  anon.     Come,  my 

157  olde  Touch  supplied  from  Q3  ;  Q2.  olde  Touchstone. 


scene  ii.]  Casfttoart)  $?oe  6 1 

poore  sonne  and  daughter,  let  us  hide  ourselves  170 
in  our  poore  humilitie,  and  live  safe.     Ambition 
consumes  it  selfe  with   the  very  show.    Worke 
upon  that  noiv. 

[Exeunt  Touchstone,  Golding  and  Mildred.'] 

Ger.  Let  him  goe,  let  him  goe,  for  Gods 
sake!  let  him  make  his  prentise  his  Sonne,  fori7S 
Gods  sake  !  give  away  his  daughter,  for  Gods 
sake  !  and  when  they  come  a  begging  to  us  for 
Gods  sake,  let's  laugh  at  their  good  husbandry  for 
Gods  sake.  Farewell,  sweet  knight,  pray  thee 
make  haste  after.  180 

Pet.  What  shall  I  say  ?     I  would  not  have 
thee  goe. 

Quick.   Now,  O  now,  I  must  depart, 
Parting  though  it  absence  move. 
This   dittie,  knight,  doe  I   see  in  thy  lookes   in  185 
capitall  letters. 
What  a  grief  tis  to  depart,  and  leave  the  flower  that 

has  my  hart ! 
My  sweete  ladie,  and  alacke  for  woe,  why,  should 

we  part  so  ? 
Tell  truth,  knight,  and  shame  all  dissembling 
lovers  ;   does  not  your  paine  lye  on  that  side  ?     190 

Pet.   If  it  doe,  canst  thou  tell  me  how  I  may 
cure  it  ? 

Quick.  Excellent  easily.    Divide  your  selfe  in 
two  halfes,  just  by  the  girdlestead ;    send  one 


62  (tottoaro  Jjoe  [act  in. 

halfe  with  your  lady,  and  keepe  the  tother  your- 195 
selfe  ;  or  else  doe  as  all  true  lovers  doe,  part 
with  your  heart,  and  leave  your  bodie  behinde. 
I  have  seen't  done  a  hundred  times :  tis  as 
easie  a  matter  for  a  lover  to  part  without  a 
heart  from  his  sweete  heart  and  he  nere  the  200 
worse,  as  for  a  mouse  to  get  from  a  trappe  and 
leave  hertaile  behind  him.  See,  here  comes  the 
writings. 

Enter  Securities  with  a  Scrivener. 

Sec.  Good  morrow  to  my  worshipfull  ladie. 
I   present  your  ladishippe  with  this  writing,  to  205 
which  if  you  please  to  set  your  hand  with  your 
knights,  a  velvet  gowne  shall  attend  your  jour- 
ney, a'  my  credite. 

Ger.   What  writing  is  it,  knight  ? 

Pet.  The  sale,  sweete  heart,  of  the  poore  ten- 210 
ement  I  tolde  thee  off,  onely  to  make  a  little 
money  to  sende  thee  downe  furniture  for  my 
castle,  to  which  my  hand  shall  lead  thee. 

Ger.  Very  well.     Now  give  me  your  pen,  I 
pray.  215 

^uick.    It    goes    downe    without     chewing, 
yfaith. 

Scrivener.  Your  worships  deliver  this  as  your 
deede  ? 

217  yfaith,  Qq.  y'faith. 


Scene  II.]  CaSttOarD  §QZ  63 

Ambo.   Wee  doe.  220 

Ger.  So  now,  knight,  farewell  till  I  see  thee. 

Pet.   All  farewell  to  my  sweet  heart ! 

Mist.  T.   God-boye,  sonne  knight. 

Pet.  Farewell,  my  good  mother. 

Ger.   Farewell,  Francke  ;   I  would  faine  take  225 
thee  downe  if  I  could. 

ghtick.   I  thankeyour  good  ladiship;   farewell, 
Mistris  Syndifie. 

Exeunt  [Gertrude  and  her  party. ] 

Pet.   O  tedious  voyage,  whereof  there  is  no 
ende  ! 
What  will  they  thinke  of  me  ?  230 

®hiick.  Thinke  what  they  list.  They  long'd 
for  a  vagarie  into  the  countrie,  and  now  they  are 
fitted.  So  a  woman  marry  to  ride  in  a  coach, 
she  cares  not  if  she  ride  to  her  ruine.  Tis  the 
great  ende  of  many  of  their  manages.  This  is 235 
not  [the]  first  time  a  lady  has  ridde  a  false  journie 
in  her  coach,  I  hope. 

Pet.  Nay,  tis  no  matter,  I  care  little  what 
they  thinke ;  hee  that  wayes  mens  thoughts 
has  his  handes  full  of  nothing.  A  man,  in  the  240 
course  of  this  worlde,  should  bee  like  a  surgeons 
instrument,  worke  in  the  woundes  of  others, 
and  feele  nothing  himselfe.  The  sharper  and 
subtler,  the  better. 

221  farewell,  Q3  farwell.  236  Qq.  omit  the. 


64  CasttoarD  n?oe  [act  hi. 

6)uick.  As  it  falles  out  nowe,  knight,  you  shall  245 
not  neede  to  devise  excuses,  or  endure  her  out- 
cryes,  when   shee  returnes ;   wee  shall  now  bee 
gone  before  where  they  can  not  reache  us. 

Pet.  Well,  my  kinde  compere,  you  have  now 
th'  assurance  we  both  can  make  you  ;  let  mee25o 
now  entreate  you,  the  money  wee  agreed  on 
may  bee  brought  to  the  Blewe  Ancor,  nere  to 
Billings-gate,  by  six  a  clocke ;  where  I  and  my 
cheife  friends,  bound  for  this  voyage,  will  with 
feastes  attend  you.  255 

Sec.  The  money,  my  most  honorable  com- 
pere, shall  without  fayle  observe  your  appointed 
howre. 

Pet.  Thankes,  my  deare  gossip.     I  must  now 
impart 
To  your  approved  love,  a  loving  secret,  260 

As  one  on  whome  my  life  doth  more  relie 
In  friendly  trust  then  any  man  alive. 
Nor  shall  you  be  the  chosen  secretarie 
Of  my  affections  for  affection  onely  : 
For  I  protest  (if  God  blesse  my  returne)  265 

To  make  you  partner  in  my  actions  gaine 
As  deepely  as  if  you  had  ventur'd  with  me 
Halfe  my  expences.     Know  then,  honest  gossip, 
I  have  injoyed  with  such  divine  contentment 
A  gentlewomans  bedde  whome  you  well  knowe,27° 
That  I  shall  nere  enjoy  this  tedious  voiage, 


scene ii]  CasttoarD  H?oe  65 

Nor  live  the  lest  part  of  the  time  it  asketh, 

Without  her  presence;  so  I  thirst  and  hunger 

To  taste  the  deare  feast  of  her  companie. 

And  if  the  hunger  and  the  thirst  you  vow  275 

As  my  sworne  gossip,  to  my  wished  good 

Be,  as  I  knowe  it  is,  unfainde  and  firme, 

Doe  mee  an  easie  favour  in  your  power. 

Sec.   Bee  sure,  brave  gossip,  all  that  I  can  doe, 
To  my  best  nerve,  is  wholly  at  your  service  :      280 
Who  is  the  woman,  first,  that  is  your  friend  ? 

Pet.   The  woman  is  your  learned   counsailes 
wife, 
The  lawyer,  Maister  Bramble ;  whome  would 

you 
Bring  out  this  even  in  honest  neighbour-hood, 
To  take  his  leave  with  you,  of  me  your  gossip,  285 
I,  in  the  meane  time,  will  send  this  my  friende 
Home  to  his  house,  to  bring  his  wife  disguis'd, 
Before  his  face,  into  our  companie ; 
For  love  hath  made  her  looke  for  such  a  wile, 
To  free  her  from  his  tyranous  jelosie.  290 

And  I  would  take  this  course  before  another, 
In  stealing  her  away,  to  make  us  sport, 
And  gull  his  circumspection  the  more  grosely  ; 
And  I  am  sure  that  no  man  like  your  selfe 
Hath  credite  with  him  to  entice  his  jelosie  295 

To  so  long  staye  abrode  as  may  give  time 
To  her  enlardgment  in  such  safe  disguise. 


66  (tottoatt)  $?O0  [Act  III. 

Sec.  A  pretie,  pithie,  and  most  pleasant  pro- 
ject! 
Who  would  not   straine  a   point  of  neighbour- 
hood 
For  such  a  point  de-vice  ?   that,  as  the  shippe     300 
Of  famous  Draco  went  about  the  world, 
Will  wind  about  the  lawyer,  compassing 
The  world,  him  selfe  ;   he  hath  it  in  his  armes, 
And  that's  enough  for  him,  without  his  wife. 
A  lawyer  is  ambitious,  and  his  head  305 

Cannot  bee  prais'de  nor  rais'de  too  high, 
With  any  forcke  of  highest  knaverye. 
He  goe  fetche  her  straight.  Exit  Securitie. 

Pet.   So,  so.      Now,  Franke,  goe  thou  home 
to  his  house, 
Stead  of  his  lawyers,  and  bring  his  wife  hether,  310 
Who,  just  like  to  the  lawyers  wife  is  prison'd 
With  his   sterne  usurous  jelosie,  which    could 

never 
Be  over  reacht  thus  but  with  over-reaching. 

Enter  Securitie. 

Sec.   And,  M[aister]  Francis,  watch  you  th' 

instant  time 
To  enter  with  his  exit :   't  wilbe  rare,  3r5 

Two   fine    horn'd    beastes,   a    cammell    and    a 

lawyer  ! 

312  his  iter  tie,  Q3  eyes  sterne. 

315   't  wilbe,  Q2  t' wilbe,  Q3  t'will  be. 


Scene  II.]  (tottaD  $W  67 

Qu.   How  the  olde  villaine  joyes  in  villany  ! 
[Exit  and  re-enter  Secur[itie.~j 
Sec.  And  harke  you,  gossip,  when  you  have 
her  here, 
Have  your  bote  ready,  shippe  her  to  your  ship 
With  utmost  haste,  lest  Maister  Bramble  stay  320 

you. 
To   o're   reach   that   head   that  outreacheth   all 

heads  ? 
Tis  a  trick  rampant ! — tis  a  very  quiblyn  ! 
I  hope  this  harvest  to  pitch  cart  with  lawyers, 
Their  heads  wil  be  so  forked.      This  slie  tooche 
Will  get  apes  to  invent  a  number  such.  Exit.  1*5 

Quick.   Was     ever    rascall     honied    so   with 
poyson  ? 

He  that  delights  in  slavish  avarice, 
Is  apt  to  joy  in  every  sort  of  vice. 
Wei,    He    go    fetch    his    wife,    whilst    he    the 330 
lawyers. 

Pet.   But  stay,  Franck,  lets  thinke  how  we 
may  disguise  her  upon  this  sodaine. 

Quick.    Gods     me,    there's     the     mischiefe ! 
But  harke  you,  here's  an  excellent  device:   fore 335 
God,   a   rare   one !   I   will    carry    her  a    saylers 
gowne   and  cap,  and  cover  her,  and   a   players 
beard. 

Pet.   And  what  upon  her  head  ? 

Quick.   I  tell  you,  a  sailers  cap!   Slight,  God  34° 


68  CasttoarD  J?oe  [act  hi. 

forgive  mee  !   what  kind  of  figent  memorie  have 
you  ? 

Pet.  Nay,  then,  what  kinde  of  figent  wit  hast 
thou  ? 

A  saylers  cap  ? — how  shall  she  put  it  off  345 

When  thou  presentst  her  to  our  companie  ? 

Quick.  Tush,    man,  for    that,    make    her    a 
sawcie  sayler. 

Pet.   Tush,  tush  !   tis   no  fit   sawce   for  such 
sweete  mutton.     I  know  not  what  t'  advise.       350 

Enter  Security']  with  his  wives  gowne. 

Sec.   Knight,  knight,  a  rare  devise  ! 
Pet.   Sownes,  yet  againe  ! 
Quick.   What  stratagem  have  you  now  ? 
Sec.  The  best  that  ever — You  talkt   of  dis- 
guising ? 
Pet.   I,  mary,  gossip,  thats  our  present  care.    355 
Sec.  Cast  care  a  way  then ;    here's  the  best 
device 
For  plaine  Security,  (for  I  am  no  better), 
I    think,    that     ever    liv'd :     here's     my    wives 

gowne, 
Which  you  may  put  upon  the  lawyers  wife, 
And  which   I  brought  you,  sir,  for  two  great  360 

reasons  ; 
One  is,  that  Maister  Bramble  may  take  hold 

354  e-ver —  Qq.   The  best  that  ever.     You  talkt  etc. 


Scene  II]  (tottoatD  fyOt  69 

Of  some  suspition  that  it  is  my  wife, 

And  gird  me  so  perhaps  with  his  law  wit  ; 

The  other  (which  is  pollicie  indeede) 

Is  that  my  wife  may  now  be  tyed  at  home,         365 

Having  no  more  but  her  old  gowne  abroade, 

And   not    showe  me  a   quirck,  while    I   fyrke 

others. 
Is  not  this  rare  ? 

Ambo.   The  best  that  ever  was. 

Sec.  Am  I  not  borne  to  furnish  gentlemen  ?    370 

Pet.   O  my  deare  gossip  ! 

Sec.  Well  hold,  Maister  Francis ;  watch  when 
the  lawyer's  out,  and  put  it  in.  And  now  I 
will  go  fetch  him.  Exit. 

Quick.   O  my  dad  !  he  goes  as  twere  the  devill  375 
to  fetch  the  lawyer ;  and  devill  shall  he  be,  if 
homes  wil  make  him. 

[Reenter  Security.! 

Pet.  Why,  how  now,  gossip  ?  why  stay  you 
there  musing  ? 

Sec.  A  toye,  a  toy  runns   in  my  head,  yfaith.  380 

Quick.  A  pox  of  that  head  !  is  there  more 
toyes  yet  ? 

Pet.   What  is  it,  pray  thee,  gossip  ? 

Sec.  Why,  sir,  what  if  you   should  slip  away 
now  with   my  wives  best  gowne,  I  having  no  385 
securitie  for  it  ? 

369   -was,  Q2.  shas,  Q3  was. 


7o  (tottoarD  S?oe  [act  hi. 

Quick.  For  that  I  hope,  dad,  you  will  take 
our  words. 

Sec.   I,  by    th'    masse,  your    word,    thats    a 
proper  staffe 
For  wise  Security  to  leane  upon  !  39o 

But  tis  no  matter,  once  lie  trust  my  name 
On  your  crackt  credits  ;   let  it  take  no  shame. 
Fetch  the  wench,  Franck.  Exit. 

Quick.   He  wait  upon  you,  sir, 
And  fetch  you  over.      \_Aside~\  You  were  nere395 

so  fetcht. 
Go  to  the  taverne,  knight  ;  your  followers 
Dare  not  be  drunke,  I  thinke,  before  their  cap- 
taine.  Exit. 

Pet.  Would  I  might  lead  them  to  no  hotter 
servise 
Till  our  Virginian  gould  were  in  our  purses ! 

Exit. 

[Actus  Tertius.     Scena  Tertia.] 

Enter  Seagull,  Spendall,  and  Scapethrift,  in   the 
[Blue  Anchor!  Taverne,  with  a  Drawer. 

Seagull.  Come,  drawer,  pierce  your  neatest 
hogsheades,  and  lets  have  cheare,  not  fit  for 
your  Billingsgate  taverne,  but  for  our  Virginian 
colonel  ;   he  wilbe  here  instantly. 

3   taverne  but,  Qz  bnt. 


Scene  III.]  (totfoartJ  fyOt  7 l 

Drawer.  You  shall  have  all  things  fit,  sir ;     5 
please  you  have  any  more  wine  ? 

Spendall.   More    wine,  slave  !      Whether   we 
drinke  it  or  no,  spill  it,  and  drawe  more. 

Scapethrift.   Fill  all  the  pottes  in  your  house 
with  all  sorts  of  licour,  and  let  'hem  waite  on  10 
us  here  like  souldiers  in  their  pewter  coates  ;  and 
though  we  doe  not  employe  them  now,  yet  wee 
will  maintaine  'hem  till  we  doe. 

Draw.   Said   like     an     honourable    captaine ; 
you  shall  have  all  you  can  command,  sir.  15 

Exit  Drawer. 

Sea.   Come,  boyes,  Virginia  longs  till  we  share 
the  rest  of  her  maiden-head. 

Spend.    Why,  is   she   inhabited   already   with 
any  English  ? 

Sea.  A  whole  country  of  English  is  there  20 
man,  bred  of  those  that  were  left  there  in  79  ; 
they  have  married  with  the  Indians,  and  make 
'hem  bring  forth  as  beautifull  faces  as  any  we 
have  in  England  ;  and  therefore  the  Indians  are 
so  in  love  with  'hem  that  all  the  treasure  they  25 
have  they  lay  at  their  feete. 

Scape.   But  is  there  such  treasure  there,  cap- 
taine, as  I  have  heard  ? 

Sea.   I  tell  thee,  golde  is  more  plentiful!  there 
then  copper  is  with  us ;  and   for  as  much  redde  30 
copper  as  I  can  bring,  He  have  thrice  the  waight 


72  (tottoatt)  ^oe  [act  m. 

in  golde.  Why,  man,  all  their  dripping  pans 
and  their  chamber  pottes  are  pure  gold  ;  and  all 
the  chaines  with  which  they  chaine  up  their 
streetes  are  massie  golde ;  all  the  prisoners  they  35 
take  are  fetterd  in  gold  ;  and  for  rubies  and 
diamonds,  they  goe  forth  on  holydayes  and 
gather  'hem  by  the  sea-shore,  to  hang  on  their 
childrens  coates,  and  sticke  in  their  capps,  as 
commonly  as  our  children  weare  saffron  guilt  4° 
brooches  and  groates  with  hoales  in  'hem. 

Scape.   And  is  it  a  pleasant  countrie  withall  ? 

Sea.  As  ever  the  sunne  shinde  on  ;  temperate 
and  full  of  all  sorts  of  excellent  viands  :  wilde 
boare  is  as  common  there  as  our  tamest  bacon  45 
is  here  ;  venison  as  mutton.  And  then  you  shall 
live  freely  there,  without  sargeants,  or  courtiers, 
or  lawyers,  or  intelligencers,  onely  a  few  indus- 
trious Scots  perhaps,  who  indeed  are  disperst 
over  the  face  of  the  whole  earth.  But  as  for  50 
them,  there  are  no  greater  friends  to  English 
men  and  England,  when  they  are  out  an't,  in 
the  world,  then  they  are.  And  for  my  part,  I 
would  a  hundred  thousand  of  'hem  were  there, 
for  wee  are  all  one  countreymen  now,  yee  know,  55 
and  wee  shoulde  finde  ten  times  more  comfort 
of  them  there  then  wee  doe  heere.  Then  for 
your  meanes  to  advancement,  there  it  is  simple, 

48-57  onely  a  feiu   .    .    .    doe  heere.    Not  in  Qi  and  Q3. 


Scene  III]  (tottoarD  $)0t  73 

and  not  preposterously  mixt.  You  may  be  an 
alderman  there,  and  never  be  scavinger :  you  60 
may  be  a  nobleman,  and  never  be  a  slave.  You 
may  come  to  preferment  enough,  and  never  be 
a  pandar  ;  to  riches  and  fortune  inough,  and 
have  never  the  more  villanie  nor  the  lesse 
wit.  Besides,  there  we  shall  have  no  more  law  65 
then  conscience,  and  not  too  much  of  either  ; 
serve  God  inough,  eate  and  drinke  inough,  and 
"  inough  is  as  good  as  a  feast." 

Spend.   Gods  me  !  and  how  farre  is  it  thether  ? 

Sea.  Some  six  weekes  sayle,  no  more,  with  any  70 
indifferent  good  winde.  And  if  I  get  to  any 
part  of  the  coaste  of  Affrica,  He  saile  thether 
with  any  winde ;  or  when  I  come  to  Cape  Fin- 
ister,  ther's  a  foreright  winde  continuall  wafts 
us  till  we  come  at  Virginia.  See,  our  collonell's  75 
come. 

Enter  Sir  Petronell  with  his  follotvers. 

Pet.  Well  mette,  good  Captaine  Seagull,  and 
my  noble  gentlemen  !     Nowe  the  sweete  houre 
of  our  freedome  is  at  hand.      Come,  drawer,  fill 
us  some  carowses,  and  prepare  us  for  the  mirth  80 
ihat  will  be  occasioned  presently.      Here  will  be 

61   a  nobleman,  the  reading  of  Ql  ;  Qz  and  Q3,  any  other  officer. 

63  fortune,  Qz  furunc. 

65-68   Besides  .    .    .   as  a  feast.      Not  found  in  Qi. 


74  (BasttoarD  J?oe  [act  hi. 

a  prety  wenche,  gentlemen  that  will  beare  us 
company  all  our  voyage. 

Sea.  Whatsoever  she  be,  here's  to  her  health, 
noble  colonell,  both  with  cap  and  knee.  85 

Pet.  Thankes,  kinde  Captaine  Seagull,  shee's 
one  I  love  dearely  and  must  not  bee  knowne 
till  wee  bee  free  from  all  that  knowe  us.  And 
so,  gentlemen,  heer's  to  her  health. 

Ambo.   Let  it  come,  worthy  collonell ;    Wee  90 
doe  hunger  and  thirst  for  it. 

Pet.  Afore  heaven,  you  have  hitte  the  phrase 
of  one  that  her  presence  will  touch  from  the 
foote  to  the  forehead,  if  ye  knew  it. 

Spend.   Why,  then,  we  wil  joyne  his  forehead  95 
with  her  health,  sir  ;  and   Captaine  Scapethrift, 
here's  to  'hem  both. 

Enter  Securitie  and  Bramble. 

Security.  See,  see,  Maister  Bramble,  fore 
heaven,  their  voyage  cannot  but  prosper !  they 
are  o'their  knees  for  successe  to  it  !  100 

Bramble.   And  they  pray  to  god  Bacchus. 

Sec.  God  save  my  brave  colonell,  with  all  his 
tall  captaines  and  corporalls.  See,  sir,  my  wor- 
shipfull  learned  counsaile,  M  [aster]  Bramble,  is 
come  to  take  his  leave  of  you.  105 

Pet.  Worshipfull  M  [aster]  Bramble,  how 
farre  doe  you  drawe  us  into  the  sweete  bryer  of 


Scene  III.]  (tottoatt)   $}0€  75 

your  kindnesse  !  Come,  Captain  Seagull,  an- 
other health  to  this  rare  Bramble,  that  hath 
never  a  pricke  about  him.  no 

Sfa.  I  pledge  his  most  smooth  disposition,  sir. 
Come,  Maister  Securitie,  bend  your  supporters, 
and  pleadge  this  notorious  health  here. 

Sec.  Bend  you  yours  likewise,  M  [aster] 
Bramble;   for  it  is  you  shal  pleadge  me.  115 

Sea.  Not  so,  M  [aster]  Securitie ;  hee  must 
not  pleadge  his  ovvne  health. 

Sec.   No,  Maister  Captaine  ? 

Enter  £)uickesilver,  with  IVinny  disguis'd. 

Why,  then,  here's  one  is  fitly  come  to  doe 
him  that  honour.  120 

Quicksilver.  Here's  the  gentlewoman  your 
cosin,  sir,  whom,  with  much  entreatie,  I  have 
brought  to  take  her  leave  of  you  in  a  taverne  ; 
asham'd  whereof,  you  must  pardon  her  if  she 
put  not  off  her  maske.  125 

Pet.  Pardon  mee,  sweete  cosen ;  my  kinde 
desire  to  see  you  before  I  went,  made  mee  so 
importunate  to  entreat  your  presence  here. 

Sec.   How  now,  M  [aster]  Frances,  have  you 
honour'd  this   presence  with  a  faire   gentlewo-130 
man  ? 

Quick.  Pray,  sir,  take  you  no  notice  of  her, 
for  she  will  not  be  knowne  to  you. 


76  (BasttoarD  C?or  [act  hi. 

Sec.  But  my  learn'd  counsaile,  M  [aster] 
Bramble  here,  I  hope  may  know  her.  135 

£)uick.  No  more  then  you,  sir,  at  this  time; 
his  learning  must  pardon  her. 

Sec.  Well,  God  pardon  her  for  my  part,  and 
I  doe,  He  bee  sworne  ;  and  so,  Maister  Francis, 
here's  to  all  that  are  going  eastward  to  night  to- 14° 
wardes  Cuckolds  Haven  ;  and  so  to  the  health 
of  Maister  Bramble. 

£hiick.  I  pledge  it^  sir.  [Kneels. ~]  Hath  it 
gone  rounde,  Captaines  ? 

Sea.  It  has,  sweet   Franck  ;  and  the  rounde  14s 
closes  with  thee. 

®hiick.  Wei,  sir,  here's  to  al  eastward  and 
toward  cuckolds,  and  so  to  famouse  Cuckolds 
Haven,  so  fatally  remembred.  Surgit. 

Pet.  Nay,  pray  thee,  cuz,  weepe  not;  gossip  15° 
Securitie. 

Sec.   I,  my  brave  gossip. 

Pet.  A  word,  I  beseech  you,  sir.   Our  friende, 
Mistresse  Bramble  here,  is  so  dissolv'd  in  teares, 
that  shee  drownes  the  whole  mirth  of  our  meet- 155 
ing.     Sweete  gossip,  take  her  aside  and  comfort 
her. 

Sec.   Pittie  of  all  true  love,  Mistresse   Bram- 
ble ;    what,   weepe    you    to    enjoy  your   love  ? 
Whats  the  cause,  ladie  ?      1st  because  your  hus-160 
band  is  so  neere,  and  your  heart  earnes  to  have 


Scene  III]  (tottoatf)  fyOZ  77 

a  litle  abus'd  him  ?  Ahlas,  ahlas  !  the  offence  is 
too  common  to  be  respected.  So  great  a  grace 
hath  seldome  chanc'd  to  so  unthankfull  a  wo- 
man; to  be  rid  of  an  old  jelous  dotard,  to  enjoy  165 
the  armes  of  a  loving  young  knight,  that  when 
your  prick-lesse  Bramble  is  withered  with  griefe 
of  your  losse,  will  make  you  floorish  afresh  in 
the  bed  of  a  ladie. 

Enter  Drawer. 

Drawer.  Sir  Petronell,  here's  one  of  your  170 
water  men  come  to  tell  you  it  wil  be  flood  these 
three  houres;  and  that  t'will  bee  dangerous  go- 
ing against  the  tyde,  for  the  skie  is  overcast,  and 
there  was  a  porcpisce  even  now  seene  at  Lon- 
don bridge,  which  is  alwaies  the  messenger  of  175 
tempests,  he  sayes. 

Pet.  A  porcpisce  ! — whats  that  to  th'  pur- 
pose ?  Charge  him,  if  he  love  his  life,  to  attend 
us;  can  we  not  reach  Blackewall  (where  my  ship 
lyes)  against  the  tide,  and  in  spight  of  tempests  ?i8o 
Captaines  and  gentlemen,  wee'll  begin  a  new 
ceremony  at  the  beginning  of  our  voyage,  which 
I  beleeve  will  be  followd  of  all  future  adven- 
turers. 


Sea.   Whats  that,  good  colonell 


I! 


Pet.  This,  Captaine  Seagull.    Wee'll  have  our 
provided  supper  brought  abord  Sir  Francis  Drakes 


78  (tettoam  $?oe  [act  hi. 

ship,  that  hath  compast  the  world  ;  where,  with 
full  cupps  and  banquets,  we  wil  doe  sacrifice  for 
a  prosperous  voyage.  My  minde  gives  me  that  190 
some  good  spirits  of  the  waters  should  hant  the 
desart  ribs  of  her,  and  be  auspicious  to  all  that 
honour  her  memorie,  and  will  with  like  orgies 
enter  their  voyages. 

Sea.   Rarely   conceipted  !      One  health  more  195 
to  this  motion,  and  aboard  to  performe  it.      He 
that  wil  not  this  night  be  drunke,  may  he  never 
be  sober. 

They    compasse    in    Wynnifrid,    daunce    the 
dronken  round,  and  drinke  carowses. 

Bram.  Sir  Petronell  and  his  honourable  cap- 
taines,  in  these  young  services  we  olde  servitors  200 
may  bee  spard.  We  onely  came  to  take  our 
leaves,  and  with  one  health  to  you  all,  He  be 
bold  to  do  so.  Here,  neighbour  Securitie,  to  the 
health  of  Sir  Petronell  and  all  his  captaines. 

Sec.  You  must  bend  then,  Maister  Bramble  5205 
so  now  I  am  for  you.  I  have  one  corner  of  my 
braine,  I  hope,  fit  to  beare  one  carouse  more. 
Here,  lady,  to  you  that  are  encompast  there,  and 
are  asham'd  of  our  company.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  by 
my  troth,  my  learn'd  counsaile,  Maister  Bramble, 210 
my  minde  runnes  so  of  Cuckolds-haven  to  night, 
that  my  head  runnes  over  with  admiration. 

Bram.   But  is  not  that  your  wife,  neighbour? 


Scene  III]  Ca0ttD3rD  fQOt  79 

Sec.   No,    by    my    troth,     Maister    Bramble. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!      A  pox  of  all  Cuckolds-havens,  1 215 
say  ! 

Bram.   A'  my  faith,  her  garments  are  exceed- 
ing like  your  wives. 

Sec.  Cucullus  no?i  facit  monachum,  my  learned 
counsaile;  all  are  not  cuckolds  that  seeme  so, 220 
nor  all  seeme  not  that  are  so.  Give  me  your 
hand,  my  learn'd  counsaile;  you  and  I  will  supp 
some  where  else  then  at  Sir  Frances  Drakes  shipp 
to  night.     Adue,  my  noble  gossip. 

Bram.   Good  fortune,  brave  captaines ;   faire225 
skies  God  send  yee  ! 

Ofnnes.   Farewell,  my  harts,  farewell ! 

Pet.   Gossip,   laugh    no    more    at    Cuckolds- 
haven,  gossip. 

Sec.   I  have  done,  I  have  done,  sir;  will  you 230 
leade  Maister  Bramble  ?      Ha,  ha,  ha  !         Exit. 

Pet.   Captaine  Seagull,  charge  a  boate. 

Omnes.  A  boate,  a  boate,  a  boate  ! 

Exeunt  \_all  except  Drawer.] 

Draw.  Y'are  in  a   proper  taking  indeed,  to 
take  a  boate,  especially  at  this  time   of  night, 235 
and  against  tide  and  tempest.      They  say  yet, 
"  drunken  men  never  take  harme."     This  night 
will  trie  the  truth  of  that  proverbe.  Exit. 


80  C-asttoara  ^oe  [act  hi. 

[Actus  Tertius.     Scena  Quarta. 

Outside  Security's  House. J 

Enter  Securitie. 

Security.  What,  Winnie  ! — wife,  I  say!  out 
dores  at  this  time  !  where  should  I  seeke  the 
gad-flye  ? — Billingsgate,  Billingsgate,  Billings- 
gate !  Shee's  gone  with  the  knight,  shee's  gone 
with  the  knight ;  woe  be  to  thee,  Billingsgate  ! 
A  boate !  a  boate !  a  boate !  a  full  hunderd 
markes  for  a  boate  !  Exit. 


ACTUS   QUARTUS. 

Scena  Prima. 

Enter  Slitgut,  with  a  paire  of  oxe  homes,  discover- 
ing Cuckolds-Haven  above. 

Slitgut.  All  haile,  faire  haven  of  married  men 
onely !  for  there  are  none  but  married  men 
cuckolds.  For  my  part,  I  presume  not  to 
arrive  here,  but  in  my  maisters  behalfe  (a  poore 
butcher  of  East-cheape),  who  sends  me  to  set  5 
up  (in  honour  of  Saint  Luke)  these  necessarie 
ensignes  of  his  homage.  And  up  I  gat  this 
morning,  thus  early,  to  get  up  to  the  toppe  of 
this  famous  tree,  that  is  all  fruite  and  no  leaves, 
to  advance  this  crest  of  my  maisters  occupation.  10 
Up  then  ;  heaven  and  Saint  Luke  blesse  me,  that 
I  be  not  blowne  into  the  Thames  as  I  clime,  with 
this  furious  tempest.  Slight !  I  thinke  the  devill 
be  abroade,  in  likenesse  of  a  storme,  to  rob  me 
of  my  homes  !  Harke  how  he  roares  !  Lord  !  15 
what  a  coyle  the  Thames  keepes  !  she  beares 
some  unjust  burthen,  I  beleeve,  that  she  kicks 
and  curvets  thus  to  cast  it.  Heaven  blesse  all 
honest  passengers  that  are  upon  her  back  now; 


82  (tottoaru  ^oe  [act  iv. 

for  the  bitte  is  out  of  her  mouth,  I  see,  and  shee  20 
will  runne  away  with  'hem  !     So,  so,  I  thinke 
I  have  made  it  looke  the  right  way.    It  runnes 
against  London-Bridge,  as  it  were,  even  full  butt. 
And  now  let  mee  discover  from  this  loftie  pros- 
pect, what  pranckes  the  rude  Thames  playes  in  25 
her  desperate  lunacie.    O  me  !  here's  a  boate  has 
beene  cast  away  hard  by.      Alas,  alas,  see  one 
of  her  passengers  labouring  for  his  life  to  land 
at  this  haven  here  !   Pray  heaven  he  may  recover 
it !     His  next  land  is  even  just  under  me.    Hold   30 
out  yet  a  little,  whatsoever  thou  art ;   pray,  and 
take  a  good  heart  to  thee.      Tis  a  man  ;  take  a 
mans  heart  to  thee  ;  yet  a  little  further,  get  up 
a  thy  legges,   man  ;   now  tis  shallowe  enough. 
So,  so,  so  !      Alas  !   hee's  downe  againe.      Hold  35 
thy  winde,  father  :   tis  a  man  in  a  night-cappe. 
So  !   now  hee's  got  up  againe ;   now  hee's  past 
the  worst :   yet,  thankes  be  to  heaven,  he  comes 
toward  me  pretie  and  strongly. 

Enter  Securitie  without  his  hat,  in  a  night-cap, 
wett  band,  &c. 

Security.   Heaven,  I  beseech  thee,  how  have  I  40 
offended  thee  !  where  am  I  cast  ashore,  nowe,  that 
I  may  goe  a  righter  way  home  by  land  ?      Let 

34  shalloive  enough,  Q3  enought. 
36  a  night-cappe,  Qq.  an. 


Scene  I.]  (totfojarD  $?0e  83 

me  see;  O  I  am  scarce  able  to  looke  about 
me :  where  is  there  any  sea-marke  that  I  am 
acquainted  withall  ?  45 

Slit.  Looke  up,  father;  are  you  acquainted 
with  this  marke  ? 

Sec.  What !  landed  at  Cuckolds  Haven  ! 
Hell  and  damnation  !  I  will  runne  backe  and 
drowne  my  selfe.  He  fa  Iks  downe.  50 

Slit.  Poore  man,  how  weake  hee  is  !  the  weake 
water  has  washt  away  his  strength. 

Sec.  Landed  at  Cuckolds  Haven  !  If  it  had 
not  bin  to  die  twentie  times  alive,  I  should  never 
have  scapt  death  !  I  will  never  arise  more ;  I  55 
will  grovell  here  and  eate  durt  till  I  be  choak't ; 
I  will  make  the  gentle  earth  doe  that  which  the 
cruell  water  has  denied  me  ! 

Slit.  Alas,  good  father,  be  not   so  desperate  ! 
Rise  man  ;   if  you  will,  lie  come  presently  and  60 
lead  you  home. 

Sec.   Home  !  shall  I  make  any  know  my  home 
that  has  knowne  me  thus  abrode  ?      How  lowe 
shall  I  crouch  away,  that  no  eye  may  see  mee  ? 
I  will  creepe  on  the  earth  while  I  live,  and  never  65 
looke  heaven  in  the  face  more. 

Exit  creep\_ing.~\ 

Slit.  What  yong  planet  raignes  now,  troe, 
that  olde  men  are  so  foolish  ?      What  desperate 

52,  58   has,  Qz  ha's. 


84  Caattoara  lljoe  [act  iv. 

yong  swaggerer  would  have  bin  abroad  such  a 
wether  as  this,  upon  the  water?      Ay   me,  see  70 
another  remnant  of  this  unfortunate  ship-wrack  ! 
or  some  other.     A  woman,  yfaith,  a  woman ; 
though  it  be  almost  at  Sfaint]   Kath'rins,  I  dis- 
cerne  it  to  be  a  woman,  for  al  her  bodie  is  above 
the  water,  and  her  clothes  swim  about  her  most  75 
handsomely.    O,  they  beare  her  up  most  bravely ! 
Has  not  a  woman  reason  to  love  the  taking  up 
of  her  cloathes  the  better  while  she  lives,  for 
this  ?    Alas,  how  busie  the  rude  Thames  is  about 
her  !      A  pox  a'  that  wave  !   it  wil  drowne  her,  80 
yfaith,  twill  drowne  her !      Crye   God  mercie, 
shee  has  scapt  it !    I  thanke  heaven  she  has  scapt 
it !      O    how   she    swimmes    like  a  mermaide ! 
Some  vigilant   body  looke    out    and    save   her. 
That's  well  said  ;  just  where  the  priest  fell  in,  85 
there's  one  sets  downe  a  ladder,  and  goes  to  take 
her  up.      Gods  blessing  a  thy  heart,  boy  !     Now 
take  her  up  in  thy  armes  and  to  bedde  with  her. 
Shee's  up,  shee's  up  !    Shee's  a  beautifull  woman, 
I   warrant  her;   the  billowes  durst  not  devoure  90 
her. 

Enter  the  Drawer  in  the  Taverne  before, 
with  Wynnyfrid. 

Drawer.   How  fare  you  now,  lady  ? 
Winifred.  Much  better,  my  good  friende,  then 


Scene  I]  (totfcOart)  tyOt  85 

I  wishe ;  as  one  desperate  of  her  fame,  now  my 
life  is  preserv'd.  95 

Draw.  Comfort  your  selfe  :  that  Power  that 
preserved  you  from  death  can  likewise  defend 
you  from  infamie,  howsoever  you  deserve  it. 
Were  not  you  one  that  tooke  bote  late  this  night, 
with  a  knight  and  other  gentlemen  at  Billings- 100 
gate  ? 

Win.   Unhappy  that  I  am,  I  was. 

Draw.  I  am  glad  it  was  my  good  happe  to 
come  downe  thus  farre  after  you,  to  a  house  of 
my  friends  heere  in  S[aint]  Kath'rines,  since  1 105 
am  now  happily  made  a  meane  to  your  rescue 
from  the  ruthlesse  tempest,  which  (when  you 
tooke  bote)  was  so  extreame,  and  the  gentleman 
that  brought  you  forth  so  desperate  and  unsober, 
that  I  fear'd  long  ere  this  I  should  heare  of  your  no 
ship-wracke,  and  therefore  (with  little  other  rea- 
son) made  thus  farre  this  way.  And  this  I  must 
tell  you,  since  perhappes  you  may  make  use  of 
it,  there  was  left  behinde  you  at  our  taverne, 
brought  by  a  porter  (hyr'd  by  the  yong  gentle- 115 
man.  that  brought  you),  a  gentlewomans  gowne, 
hat,  stockings,  and  shooes ;  which  if  they  be 
yours,  and  you  please  to  shift  you,  taking  a  hard 
bed  here  in  this  house  of  my  friend,  I  will  pre- 
sently goe  fetch  you.  120 

Win.  Thanks,  my  good  friend,  for  your  more 


86  (tottoart)  H?oe  [act  iv. 

then  good  newes.  The  gowne  with  all  things 
bounde  with  it  are  myne ;  which  if  you  please 
to  fetch  as  you  have  promist,  I  will  bouldly  re- 
ceive the  kinde  favour  you  have  offered  till  your  125 
returne ;  intreating  you,  by  all  the  good  you  have 
done  in  preserving  me  hitherto,  to  let  none  take 
knowledge  of  what  favour  you  doe  me,  or  where 
such  a  one  as  I  am  bestowed,  lest  you  incurre 
mee  much  more  damage  in  my  fame  than  you  130 
have  done  me  pleasure  in  preserving  my  life. 

Draw.  Come  in,  lady,  and  shift  your  selfe; 
resolve  that  nothing  but  your  owne  pleasure  shall 
bee  usde  in  your  discovery. 

Win.  Thanck  you,  good  friende ;   the  time  135 
may  come,  I  shall  requite  you.  Exeunt. 

Slit.  See,  see,  see  !  I  hold  my  life,  there's 
some  other  a  taking  up  at  Wapping  now !  Looke, 
what  a  sort  of  people  cluster  about  the  gallows 
there!  in  good  troth  it  is  so.  O  me!  a  fine  140 
yong  gentleman  !  What,  and  taken  up  at  the 
gallowes !  Heaven  graunt  he  be  not  one  day 
taken  downe  there  !  A  my  life,  it  is  omenous ! 
Well,  hee  is  delivered  for  the  time.  I  see  the 
people  have  all  left  him ;  yet  will  I  keepe  my  145 
prospect  awhile,  to  see  if  any  more  have  bin 
shipwrackt. 


scene i]  (tottoaru  ^oe  87 

Enter  Quick  [silver]  bareheade. 

Quicksilver.    Accurs't  that  ever  I  was  sav'd  or 
borne  ! 
How  fatall  is  my  sad  arrivall  here ! 
As  if  the  starres  and  Providence  spake  to  mee,  150 
And  sayd,  "  The  drift  of  all  unlawfull  courses 
(What  ever  ende  they  dare  propose  themselves, 
In  frame  of  their  licentious  policyes), 
In  the  firme  order  of  just  Destinie, 
They  are  the  ready  highwayes  to  our  ruines."     155 
I  know  not  what  to  doe ;   my  wicked  hopes 
Are,  with  this  tempest,  torne  up  by  the  rootes. 
O,  which  way  shall  I  bend  my  desperate  steppes, 
In  which  unsufferable  shame  and  miserie 
Will  not  attend  them  ?      I  will  walke  this  banck,  160 
And  see  if  I  can  meete  the  other  reliques 
Of  our  poore  ship-wrackt  crew,  or  heare  of  them. 
The  knight,  alas  !   was  so  farre  gone  with  wine, 
And  th'  other  three,  that  I  refus'de  their  bote, 
And  tooke  the  haplesse  woman  in  another,  165 

Who  cannot  but  be  suncke,  whatever  Fortune 
Hath  wrought  upon  the  others  desperate  lives. 

[Exit.] 

Enter  Petronel,  and  Seagul,  bareheaded. 

Petronel.    Zounds  !     Captaine,  I  tell  thee  we 
are  cast  up  o'the  coast  of  France.     Sfoote  !  I  am 

Enter  ^uicisil'ver,  Qz  Euter. 


88  (tottoaru  J?oe  [act  iv. 

not  drunke  still,  I  hope.     Dost  remember  where  170 
we  were  last  night  ? 

Seagull.  No,  by  my  troth,  knight,  not  I ;  but 
me  thinkes  wee  have  bin  a  horrible  while  upon 
the  water  and  in  the  water. 

Pet.  Aye  me!  we  are  undone  forever!    Hast  175 
any  money  about  thee  ? 

Sea.   Not  a  pennie,  by  Heaven  ! 

Pet.  Not  a  pennie  betwixt  us,  and  cast  ashore 
in  France ! 

Sea.    Faith,  I   cannot   tell   that;  my  brainesiSo 
nor  mine  eyes  are  not  mine  owne  yet. 

Enter  2  Gentlemen. 

Pet.  Sfoote  !  wilt  not  beleeve  me  ?  I  know't 
by  th'  elevation  of  the  pole,  and  by  the  altitude 
and  latitude  of  the  climate.  See,  here  comes  a 
coople  of  French  gentlemen;  I  knew  we  were  185 
in  France  ;  dost  thou  think  our  Englishmen  are 
so  Frenchyfied,  that  a  man  knowes  not  whether 
he  be  in  France  or  in  England,  when  he  sees 
'hem  ?  What  shal  we  doe  ?  We  must  eene 
to  'hem,  and  intreat  some  reliefe  of  'hem.  Life  190 
is  sweete,  and  we  have  no  other  meanes  to  re- 
lieve our  lives  now  but  their  charities. 

Sea.  Pray  you,  do  you  beg  on  'hem  then  ; 
you  can  speak  French. 

Pet.   Monsieur,  plaist  il  davoir  pitie  de  nostreiys 


Scene  I. ]  C'aSftiDtirD  tyOZ  89 

grande  infortunes.      *Je   suis    un   povre   chevalier 
cF  Angleterre  qui  a  souffri  Yinfortune  de  naufrage. 

1  Gent.    Un  povre  chevalier  cT  Angleterre  ? 
\Pet.~\    Oui,  monsieur ,  /'/  est  trop  vraye ;  mais 

vous  scaves  bien  nous  somes  toutes  subject  a  fortune.  200 

2  Gent.  A  poore  knight  of  England  ? — a  poore 
knight  of  Windsore,  are  you  not  ?  Why  speake 
you  this  broken  French,  when  y'are  a  whole 
Englishman  ?  On  what  coaste  are  you,  thinke 
you  ?  205 

Pet.   On  the  coast  of  France,  sir. 

/  Gent.  On  the  cost  of  Doggs,  sir;  y'are  ith 
He  a  Doggs,  I  tell  you.  I  see  y'ave  bene  washt 
in  the  Thames  here,  and  I  beleeve  ye  were 
drownd  in  a  taverne  before,  or  els  you  would  210 
never  have  tooke  bote  in  such  a  dawning  as  this 
was.  Farewell,  farewell ;  we  wil  not  know  you 
for  shaming  of  you.  I  ken  the  man  weel ;  hee's 
one  of  my  thirty  pound  knights. 

2   Gent.    No,   no,   this    is    he   that   stole    his  21 5 
knighthood    o'the   grand   day   for   foure    pound 
given   to   a   page ;   all  the  money  in's   purse,  I 
wot  well.  Exeunt. 

Sea.  Death!  Collonell,  I  knew  you  were  over 
shot.  22° 

Pet.  Sure  I  thinke  now,  indeede,  Captaine 
Seagull,  we  were  something  overshot. 

198    Angleterre,  Qq,  Angliterre. 
217  given  to  a  page,  Qq.  giving. 


90  (tottoaru  i£oe  [act  iv. 

Enter  Quicksilver. 

What !    my  sweete  Franck   Quicksilver !    dost 
thou  survive  to  rejoyce  me  ?    But  what !  no  bodie 
at  thy  heels,  Franck  ?     Ay  me  !   what  is  become  225 
of  poore  Mistresse  Securitie  ? 

Quicksilver.  Faith,  gone  quite  from  her  name, 
as  she  is  from  her  fame,  I  thinke ;  I  left  her  to 
the  mercie  of  the  water. 

Sea.   Let  her  goe,  let  her  goe  !      Let  us  go  to  230 
our  ship  at  Blackwall,  and  shift  us. 

Pet.  Nay,  by  my  troth,  let  our  clothes  rotte 
upon  us,  and  let  us  rotte  in  them ;  twentie  to 
one  our  ship  is  attacht  by  this  time.  If  we  set 
her  not  under  saile  this  last  tide,  I  never  lookt235 
for  any  other.  Woe,  woe  is  me !  what  shall 
become  of  us  ?  The  last  money  we  could  make, 
the  greedy  Thams  has  devourde;  and  if  our  ship 
be  attach't,  there  is  no  hope  can  relieve  us. 

£htick.    Sfoot,  knight!   what   an  un-knightly24o 
faintnesse  transports  thee!      Let  our  ship  sinck, 
and  all  the  world  thats  without  us  be  taken  from 
us,  I  hope  I  have  some  tricks  in  this  braine  of 
mine  shall  not  let  us  perish. 

Sea.    Well  said,  Francke,  yfaith.     O  my  nim-245 
ble-spirited  Quicksilver  !   Fore  God,  would  thou 
hadst  beene  our  colonell ! 

Pet.  I  like  his  spirit  rarely ;  but  I  see  no 
meanes  he  has  to  support  that  spirit. 


scene  i. ]  (tettoara  H?oe  91 

Quick.  Go  to,  knight!  I  have  more  meanes2so 
then  thou  art  aware  off.  I  have  not  liv'd  amongst 
gould-smiths  and  gould-makers  all  this  while 
but  I  have  learned  something  worthy  of  my  time 
with  'hem.  And  not  to  let  thee  stinck  where 
thou  standst,  knight,  He  let  thee  know  some  of  255 
my  skill  presently. 

Sea.   Doe,  good  Francke,  I  beseech  thee. 

Quick.   I   will  blanche  copper  so   cunningly 
that  it  shall  endure  all  proofes  but  the  test :   it 
shall  endure  malleation,  it  shal  have  the  ponder- 260 
ositie  of  Luna,  and  the  tenacitie  of  Luna,  by  no 
meanes  friable. 

Pet.  Slight !  where  learn'st  thou  these  tearmes, 
tro  ? 

Quick.    Tush,   knight!    the   tearmes   of  this 265 
arte  every  ignorant  quack-salver  is   perfect  in  ; 
but  He  tell  you  how  your  selfe  shal  blanche  cop- 
per thus  cunningly.     Take  arsnicke,  otherwise 
called  realga  (which  indeede  is  plaine  ratsbane)  ; 
sublime  'hem  three  or  foure  times,  then  take  the  270 
sublimate  of  this  realga    and  put  'hem  into  a 
glasse,  into  chymia,  and  let  'hem  have  a  con- 
venient decoction   naturall,  foure    and   twentie 
houres,  and  he  will  become  perfectly  fixt ;  then 
take  this   fixed  powder,  and  project   him   upon  275 
wel-purgd  copper,  et  habehis  magisterium. 

Ajnbo.  Excellent  Francke,  let  us  hugge  thee ! 


92  Casttoarn  ^oe  [act  iv. 

Quick.  Nay,  this  I  will  do  besides.      He  take 
you  off  twelvepence   from  every  angell,  with  a 
kind  of  aqua  forth,  and  never  deface  any  part  of  280 
the  image. 

Pet.   But  then  it  will  want  weight  ? 

Quick.  You  shall  restore  that  thus :  take 
your  sal  achyme  prepar'd,  and  your  distild  urine, 
and  let  your  angels  lie  in  it  but  foure  and  twenty  285 
howres,  and  they  shall  have  their  perfect  weight 
againe.  Come  on,  now ;  I  hope  this  is  enough 
to  put  some  spirit  into  the  livers  of  you  ;  He  in- 
fuse more  another  time.  We  have  saluted  the 
proud  ayre  long  enough  with  our  bare  skonces.290 
Now  will  I  have  you  to  a  wenches  house  of 
mine  at  London,  there  make  shift  to  shift  us, 
and  after,  take  such  fortunes  as  the  stars  shal 
assigne  us. 

Ambo.    Notable  Franck,  we  will  ever  adore  295 
thee !  Exeunt. 

Enter  Drawer,  with  IVynifrid  new  attird. 

Winifred.  No  we,  sweete  friende,  you  have 
brought  me  nere  enough  your  tavcrne,  which 
I  desired  I  might  with  some  colour  be  seene 
neare,  enquiring  for  my  husband,  who  (I  must  300 
tel  you)  stale  thither  last  night  with  my  wet 
gowne  we  have  left  at  your  friends, — which,  to 

301   stale  thither,  Q3  stole. 


scene  i]  Casttoaru  $?oe  93 

continue  your  former  honest   kindnes,  let    me 
pray  you  to  keepe  close  from  the  knowledge  of 
any  :   and  so,  with  all  vow  of  your  requitall,  let  305 
me  now  entreate  you  to  leave  me  to  my  womans 
wit  and  fortune. 

Draiver.  All  shall  be  done  you  desire  ;  and  so 
all  the  fortune  you  can  wish  for  attend  you. 

Exit  Draw\_er~^. 

Enter  Securitie. 

Security.  I  wil  once  more  to  this  unhappy  tav-310 
erne  before  I  shift  one  ragge  of  me  more ;  that  I 
may  there  know  what  is  left  behind,  and  what 
newes  of  their  passengers.  I  have  bought  me  a 
hat  and  band  with  the  little  money  I  had  about 
me,  and  made  the  streets  a  litle  leave  staring  at  315 
my  night-cap. 

Win.  O,  my  deare  husband !  where  have 
you  bin  to  night  ?  Al  night  abroade  at  tavernes  ! 
Rob  me  of  my  garments  !  and  fare  as  one  run 
away  from  me  !  Ahlas  !  is  this  seemely  for  a  320 
man  of  your  credit,  of  your  age,  and  affection  to 
your  wife  ? 

Sec.  What  should  I  say  ?  how  miraculously 
sorts  this  !  was  not  I  at  home,  and  cald  thee 
last  night  ?  325 

Win.  Yes,  sir,  the  harmelesse  sleepe  you 
broke  ;  and  my  answer  to  you  would  have  wit- 


94  (tottoaru  J?oe  [act  iv. 

nest  it,  if  you  had  had  the  pacience  to  have  staid 
and  answered  me  ;  but  your  so  sodaine  retreate 
made  me  imagine  you  were  gone  to  Maiste^o 
Brambles,  and  so  rested  patient  and  hopefull  of 
your  comming  againe,  till  this  your  unbeleeved 
absence  brought  me  abroade  with  no  lesse  then 
wonder,  to  seeke  you  where  the  false  knight  had 
carried  you.  335 

Sec.  Villaine  and  monster  that  I  was  !  Howe 
have  I  abus'd  thee !  I  was  sodainly  gone  in- 
deede;  for  my  sodaine  jelousie  transferred  me. 
I  will  say  no  more  but  this,  deare  wife,  I  sus- 
pected thee.  34.0 

Win.   Did  you  suspect  me  ? 

Sec.  Talke  not  of  it,  I  beseech  thee  ;  I  am 
ashamed  to  imagine  it.  I  will  home,  I  will 
home;  and  every  morning  on  my  knees  aske 
thee  hartely  forgivenes.  Exeunt.  345 

\_Slitgut.~\  Nowe  will  I  descend  my  hon- 
ourable prospect ;  the  farthest  seeing  sea  marke 
of  the  world  :  noe  marvaile,  then,  if  I  could 
see  two  miles  about  me.  I  hope  the  redde  tem- 
pests anger  be  nowe  over  blowne,  which  sure,  350 
I  thinke,  Heaven  sent  as  a  punishment  for 
prophaning  holy  Saint  Lukes  memorie  with  so 
ridiculous  a  custome.     Thou  dishonest  satyre  ! 

329   retreate,  Q3  retrait. 

347  farthest,  Q2  farthiest  ;   Qj  farthyest. 


Scene  II.]  (tottoatf)  &O0  95 

Farewel  to  honest  married  men,  farewel  to  all 
sorts  and  degrees  of  thee!  Farewel  thou  home 355 
of  hunger,  that  calst  th'  inns  a  court  to  their 
manger  !  Farewel,  thou  home  of  aboundance, 
that  adornest  the  headsmen  of  the  common- 
wealth !  Farewell,  thou  home  of  direction,  that 
is  the  cittie  lanthorne  !  Farewell,  thou  home  of  36° 
pleasure,  the  ensigne  of  the  huntsman  !  Fare- 
well, thou  home  of  destinie,  th'  ensigne  of  the 
married  man  !  Farewell,  thou  home  tree,  that 
bearest  nothing  but  stone  fruite !  Exit. 

[Actus    Quartus.     Scena    Secunda. 

A  Room  in  Touchstone's  House.! 

Enter  Touchstone. 

Touchstone.  Ha,  sirah  !  thinkes  my  knight  ad- 
venturer we  can  no  point  of  our  compasse  ? 
Doe  wee  not  knowe  north-north-east,  north-east 
and  by  east,  east  and  by  north,  nor  plaine  east- 
ward ?  Ha  !  have  we  never  heard  of  Virginia,  5 
nor  the  Cavallaria,  nor  the  Colonoria  ?  Can 
we  discover  no  discoveries  ?  Well,  mine  errant 
Sir  Flash,  and  my  runnagate  Quicksilver,  you 
may  drinke  dronke,  crack  Cannes,  hurle  away  a 
browne  dozen  of  Monmouth  capps  or  so,  in  sea-  io 
ceremonie  to  your  boon  voyage;  but  for  reaching 

6  nor  the  Colonoria,  Qz  not. 


96  CastfoarD  H?oe  [act  iv. 

any  coast,  save  the  coast  of  Kent  or  Essex,  with 
this  tide,  or  with  this  fleete,  He  be  your  warrant 
for  a  Gravesend  tost.  There's  that  gone  afore 
wil  stay  your  admiral  and  vice-admirall  and  15 
rere-admirall,  were  they  al  (as  they  are)  but  one 
pinnace,  and  under  saile,  as  wel  as  a  remora, 
doubt  it  not ;  and  from  this  sconce,  without 
eyther  pouder  or  shot.  Worke  upon  that  now. 
Nay,  and  you'll  shew  trickes,  wee'l  vie  with  20 
you  a  little.  My  daughter,  his  lady,  was  sent 
eastward  by  land  to  a  castle  of  his  i'  the  ayre  (in 
what  region  I  knowe  not),  and,  as  I  heare,  was 
glad  to  take  up  her  lodging  in  her  coach,  she 
and  her  two  waiting  women,  her  maide,  and  her  25 
mother,  like  three  snailes  in  a  shell,  and  the 
coachman  a  top  on  'hem,  I  thinke.  Since  they 
have  all  found  the  way  back  againe  by  Weep- 
ing Crosse;  but  He  not  see 'hem.  And  for  two 
on  'hem,  madam  and  her  malkin,  they  are  like  30 
to  bite  o'  the  bridle  for  William,  as  the  poore 
horses  have  done  al  this  while  that  hurried  'hem, 
or  else  go  graze  o'  the  common.  So  should 
my  Dame  Touchstone  too ;  but  she  has  bene 
my  crosse  these  thirty  yeares,  and  He  now  keepe  35 
her  to  fright  away  sprights,  ifaith.  I  wonder  I 
heare  no  news  of  my  sonne  Goulding.  He  was 
sent  for  to  the  Guild-hall  this  morning  betimes, 
and  I  marvaile  at  the  matter ;  if  I  had  not  layd 


Scene  II.]  (tottoatf)  tyOt  97 

up    comfort   and  hope   in   him,  I   should  grow  40 
desperate  of  al.      See,  he  is  come  i'  my  thought ! 
How  now,  sonne  ?      What  newes  at  the  Court 
of  Aldermen  ? 

Enter  Goulding. 

Golding.  Troth,  sir,  an  accident  somewhat 
strange,  els  it  hath  litle  in  it  worth  the  reporting.  45 

Touch.  What  ?  It  is  not  borrowing  of  money 
then  ? 

Gold.  No,  sir ;  it  hath  pleasd  the  worshipful 
commoners  of  the  citty  to  take  me  one  i'  their 
number  at  presentation  of  the  inquest 5° 

Touch.   Ha  ! 

Gold.  And  the  alderman  of  the  warde  wherein 
I  dwel  to  appoint  me  his  deputy 

Touch.    Howe  ? 

Gold.   In  which    place  I  have  had    an    oath  55 
ministred  me,  since  I  went. 

Touch.  Now,  my  deare  and  happy  sonne,  let 
me  kisse  thy  new  worship,  and  a  litle  boast 
mine  own  happines  in  thee.  What  a  fortune 
was  it  (or  rather  my  judgment,  indeed),  for  me,  60 
first  to  see  that  in  his  disposition  which  a  whole 
citty  so  conspires  to  second!  Tane  into  the 
livory  of  his  company  the  first  day  of  his  free- 
dome  !      Now    (not    a    weeke  maried),  chosen 

57,  58   let  me  kisse,  Qi  let  we. 


98  (tottoaru  J?oe  [act  iv. 

commoner  and  aldermans  deputie  in  a  day  !  65 
Note  but  the  reward  of  a  thrifty  course  !  The 
wonder  of  his  time  !  Wei,  I  will  honour  M  [as- 
ter] Alderman  for  this  act  (as  becomes  me), 
and  shall  think  the  better  of  the  Common  Coun- 
cels  wisdome  and  worship,  while  I  live,  for  thus  70 
meeting,  or  but  comming  after  me,  in  the  opin- 
ion of  his  desert.  Forward,  my  sufficient  sonne  ! 
and  as  this  is  the  first,  so  esteeme  it  the  least 
step  to  that  high  and  prime  honour  that  expects 
thee.  75 

Gold.  Sir,  as  I  was  not  ambitious  of  this,  so 
I  covet  no  higher  place  ;  it  hath  dignity  enough, 
if  it  will  but  save  me  from  contempt ;  and  I 
had  rather  my  bearing  in  this  or  any  other  of- 
fice should  adde  worth  to  it  then  the  place  give  80 
the  least  opinion  to  me. 

Touch.  Excellently  spoken !  This  modest 
answer  of  thine  blushes,  as  if  it  said,  I  will  weare 
scarlet  shortly.  Worshipfull  sonne !  I  can- 
not containe  my  selfe,  I  must  tell  thee ;  I  hope  85 
to  see  thee  one  o'  the  monuments  of  our  citty, 
and  reckon'd  among  her  worthies,  to  be  remem- 
bred  the  same  day  with  the  Lady  Ramsey  and 
grave  Gresham,  when  the  famous  fable  of 
Whittington  and  his  pusse  shalbe  forgotten,  90 
and  thou  and  thy  actes  become  the  posies  for 
hospitals  ;  when  thy  name  shall  be  written  upon 


Scene  II.]  CagttjOarD  fyQt  99 

conduits,  and  thy  deeds  plaid  i'  thy  lifetime  by 
the  best  companies  of  actors,  and  be  call'd  their 
get-peny.      This  I  divine ;  this  I  prophecie.  95 

Gold.  Sir,  engage  not  your  expectation  farder 
then  my  abilities  will  answere ;  I,  that  know 
mine  owne  strengths,  feare  'hem  ;  and  there  is 
so  seldome  a  losse  in  promising  the  least  that 
commonly  it  brings  with  it  a  welcome  deceipt.  ioo 
I  have  other  newes  for  you,  sir. 

Touch.   None  more  welcome,  I  am  sure  ? 

Gold.  They  have  their  degree  of  welcome,  I 
dare  affirme.  The  colonell  and  all  his  com- 
pany, this  morning  putting  forth  drunke  from  105 
Belinsgate,  had  like  to  have  been  cast  away  o' 
this  side  Greenwich  ;  and  (as  I  have  intelligence 
by  a  false  brother)  are  come  dropping  to  towne 
like  so  many  masterlesse  men,  i'  their  doublets 
and  hose,  without  hatte,  or  cloake,  or  any  no 
other 

Touch.  A  miracle!  the  justice  of  Heaven! 
Where  are  they  ?  Lets  goe  presently  and  lay  for 
'hem. 

Gold.  I  have  done  that  already,  sir,  both  by  115 
constables  and  other  officers,  who  shall  take  'hem 
at  their  old  Anchor,  and  with  lesse  tumult  or 
suspition  then  if  your  selfe  were  seene  in't,  under 
coulour  of  a  great  presse  that  is  now  abroad, 
and  they  shall  here  be  brought  afore  me.  120 


ioo  (tettoara  l^oe  [activ. 

Touch.  Prudent  and  politique  sonne  !  Dis- 
grace 'hem  all  that  ever  thou  canst ;  their  ship  I 
have  already  arrested.  How  to  my  wish  it  falls 
out  that  thou  hast  the  place  of  a  justicer  upon 
'hem  !  I  am  partly  glad  of  the  injury  done  to  125 
me,  that  thou  maist  punish  it.  Be  severe  i'  thy 
place,  like  a  new  officer  o'  the  first  quarter,  un- 
reflected.  You  heare  how  our  lady  is  come 
back  with  her  traine  from  the  invisible  castle  ? 
Gold.   No,  where  is  she?  130 

Touch.  Within ;  but  I  ha'  not  seene  her  yet, 
nor  her  mother,  who  now  begins  to  wish  her 
daughter  undub'd,  they  say,  and  that  she  had 
walkd  a  foot-pase  with  her  sister.  Here  they 
come;   stand  back.  135 

Touchstone,  Mistresse  Touchstone,  Gyrtrude,  Gould- 
ing,  Mildred,  Syndefie. 

God  save  your  ladiship ;  save  your  good 
ladiship  !  Your  ladiship  is  welcome  from  your 
inchanted  castell,  so  are  your  beautious  retinew. 
I  heare  your  knight  errant  is  travayld  on 
strange  adventures.  Surely,  in  my  minde,  your  140 
ladiship  hath  fish 'dfiaire,  and  caught  a  frog,  as  the 
saying  is. 

Mistress  Touchstone.  Speake  to  your  father, 
madam,  and  kneele  downe. 

126  fthy,  Q3  ithy. 


Scene  II]  Ca0ti»arD  tyOt  IOI 

Gertrude.     Kneele  ?   I  hope  I  am  not  brought  145 
so  low  yet ;  though  my  knight  be  run  away,  and 
has  sold  my  land,  I  am  a  lady  stil. 

Touch.   Your  ladiship  says  true,  madam  ;   and 
it  is  fitter  and  a  greater  decorum,  that   I  should 
curtsie  to  you  that  are  a  knights  wife,  and  a  150 
lady,  then  you  be  brought  a'  your  knees  to  me, 
who  am  a  poore  cullion  and  your  father. 

Ger.  Law  !   my  father  knowes  his  duty. 

Mist.  T.  O  child  ! 

Touch.  And  therefore  I  doe  desire  your  ladi- 155 
ship,  my  good  Lady  Flash,  in  all  humility,  to 
depart  my  obscure  cottage,  and  returne  in  quest 
of  your  bright  and  most  transparent  castell,  how 
ever  presently  conceald  to  mortall  eyes.  And  as 
for  one  poore  woman  of  your  traine  here,  1 160 
will  take  that  order,  she  shall  no  longer  be  a 
charge  unto  you,  nor  helpe  to  spend  your  ladi- 
ship ;  she  shall  stay  at  home  with  me,  and  not 
goe  abroad,  not  put  you  to  the  pawning  of  an 
odde  coach  horse  or  three  wheeles,  but  take  part  165 
with  the  Touchstone.  If  we  lacke,  we  wil  not 
complaine  to  your  ladiship.  And  so,  good 
madam,  with  your  damoselle  here,  please  you 
to  let  us  see  your  straight  backs  in  equipage  ; 
for  truly  here  is  no  roust  for  such  chickens  asi7o 


102  (tettoarD  $?oe  [activ. 

you  are,  or  birds  o'  your  feather,  if  it  like  your 
ladiship. 

Ger.   Mary,    fyste    o'    your    kindnesse !       I 
thought  as  much.      Come  away,  Sinne,  we  shall 
as  soone  get  a  fart  from  a  dead  man,  as  a  far- 17s 
thing  of  court'sie  here. 

Mildred.   O,  good  sister  ! 

Ger.  Sister,  Sir  Reverence  !    Come  away,  I 
say,  hunger  drops  out  at  his  nose. 

Gold.   O,  madam,  Fa'ire  words  never  hurt  the  180 
tongue. 

Ger.   How  say  you  by  that  ?      You  come  out 
with  your  golde  ends  now  ! 

Mist.  T.  Stay,  lady-daughter;  good  husband! 

Touch.   Wife,   no  man   loves  his    fetters,  be  185 
they  made  of  gold.     I  list  not  ha'  my  head  fast- 
ned  under  my  childs  girdle ;   as  she  has  brew'd, 
so  let  her  drinke,  a  Gods  name.      She  went  wit- 
lesse  to  wedding,  now  she  may  goe  wisely  a  beg- 
ging.   It's  but  honymoone  yet  with  her  ladiship  ;  190 
she  has  coach  horses,  apparell,  jewels,  yet  left ; 
she  needs  care  for  no  friends,  nor  take  know- 
ledge of  father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  or  any 
body.      When  those  are  pawn'd  or  spent,  per- 
haps we  shall  returne  into  the  list  of  her  acquaint- 195 
ance. 

Ger.  I  scorne  it,  ifaith.      Come,  Sinne. 

Exit  Gyrt\rude,  and  Sindefy.^ 


scene ii]  CastuoarD  H?oe  103 

Mist.  T.  O  madam,  why  do  you  provoke 
your  father  thus  ? 

Touch.  Nay,  nay  ;  eene  let  pride  goe  afore,  200 
shame  wil  follow  after,  I  warrant  you.  Come, 
why  doost  thou  weepe  now  ?  Thou  art  not 
the  first  good  cow  hast  had  an  ill  calfe,  I  trust. 
[Exit  Mistress  Touchstone.]  What's  the  newes 
with  that  fellow  ?  205 

Enter  Constable. 

Constable.  Sir,  the  knight  and  your  man 
Quickesilver  are  without ;  will  you  ha  'hem 
brought  in  ? 

Touch.   O,  by  any  meanes.     [Exit  Constable.] 
And,  sonne,  here's   a   chaire ;    appeare  terrible  210 
unto  'hem   on   the   first  enterview.      Let  them 
behold  the  melancholy  of  a  magistrate,  and  taste 
the  fury  of  a  citizen  in  office. 

Gold.  Why,  sir,  I  can  do  nothing  to  'hem, 
except  you  charge  'hem  with  somwhat.  2I5 

Touch.  I  will  charge  'hem  and  recharge  'hem, 
rather  then  authority  should  want  foyle  to  set 
it  of.  [Offers  Golding  a  chair.] 

Gold.   No,  good  sir,  I  will  not. 

Touch.   Sonne,    it    is     your    place;     by    any 220 
meanes 

Gold.  Beleeve  it,  I  will  not,  sir. 


104  CaattoarD  $?oe  [activ. 

Enter    Knight   Petronell,   £)uickesilver,   Constable^ 
Officers. 

Petronel.  How  misfortune  pursues  us  still  in 
our  misery  ! 

Quicksilver.   Would  it  had  beene  my  fortune  225 
to  have  beene  trust  up  at  Wapping  rather  then 
ever  ha'  come  here  ! 

Pet.   Or  mine  to  have  famisht  in  the  Hand  ! 

£)uick.   Must  Goulding  sit  upon  us  ? 

Constable.   You  might  carry  an  M.  under  your  230 
girdle  to  Maister  Deputis  worship. 

Gold.   What  are  those,  Maister  Constable  ? 

Con.  And't  please  your  worship,  a  couple  of 
maisterlesse  men  I  prest  for  the  Low-Countries, 
sir.  235 

Gold.  Why  do  you  not  cary  'hem  to  Bride- 
well, according  to  your  order,  they  may  be  shipt 
away  ? 

Con.   An't  please  your  worship,  one  of  'hem 
sayes  he  is  a  knight;    and  we  thought  good  to 240 
shew  him  to  your  worship,  for  our  discharge. 

Gold.  Which  is  he  ? 

Con.  This,  sir. 

Gold.   And  what's  the  other  ? 

Con.   A  knights  fellow,  sir,  an't  please  you.     245 

Gold.  What  !  a  knight  and  his  fellow  thus  ac- 
coutred ?  Where  are  their  hattes  and  feathers, 
their  rapiers  and  their  cloakes  ? 


Scene  II]  CaStta!)   fyOZ  IO5 

ghiick.   O,  they  mock  us. 

Con.  Nay,  truely,  sir,  they  had  cast  both  their  250 
feathers  and  hattes  too,  before  wee  see  'hem. 
Here's  all  their  furniture,  an't  please  you,  that 
we  found.  They  say  knights  are  now  to  be 
knowne  without  feathers,  like  cockrels  by  their 
spurres,  sir.  255 

Gold.  What  are  their  names,  say  they  ? 

Touch.   Very  well  this.      He  should   not  take 
knowledge  of  'hem  in  his  place,  indeed. 

Con.  This  is  Sir  Petronell  Plash. 

Touch.   How  !  260 

Con.  And  this,  Francis  Ouickesilver. 

Touch.  Is't  possible  ?  I  thought  your  wor- 
ship had  beene  gone  for  Virginia,  sir ;  you  are 
welcome  home,  sir.  Your  worship  has  made  a 
quick  returne,  it  seemes,  and  no  doubt  a  good  265 
voyage.  Nay,  pray  you  be  cover'd,  sir.  How 
did  your  bisquet  hold  out,  sir  ?  Me  thought  I 
had  seene  this  gentleman  afore.  Good  Maister 
Quickesilver,  how  a  degree  to  the  southward 
has  chang'd  you  !  27° 

Gold.   Doe  you  know  'hem,  father  ?    Forbeare 
your  offers  a  litle,  you  shall  be  heard  anon. 

Touch.  Yes,  Maister  Deputy  ;   I   had  a  small 
venture  with  them  in  the  voyage — a  thing  cald 
a  sonne  in  lawe,  or  so.      Officers,  you  may  let  275 
!hem  stand  alone,  they  will  not  runne  away  ;  He 


106  CasttoarD  J?oe  [activ. 

give  my  word  for  them.  A  couple  of  very  hon- 
est gentlemen.  One  of  'hem  was  my  prentise, 
M  [aster]  Quicksilver  here ;  and  when  he  had 
2  yeare  to  serve,  kept  his  whore  and  his  hunting 280 
nag,  would  play  his  100.  pound  at  gresco,  or 
primero,  as  familiarly  (and  al  a'  my  purse)  as 
any  bright  peice  of  crimson  on  'hem  all  ;  had 
his  changable  trunks  of  apparel  standing  at  liv- 
ery, with  his  mare,  his  chest  of  perfumd  linnen,285 
and  his  bathing  tubbs,  which  when  I  told  him 
off,  why  he, — he  was  a  gentleman,  and  I  a 
poore  Cheapeside  groome !  The  remedie  was, 
we  must  part.  Since  when,  he  hath  had  the  gift 
of  gathering  up  some  small  parcels  of  mine,  to  the  290 
value  of  500.  pound,  disperst  among  my  cus- 
tomers, to  furnish  this  his  Virginian  venture ; 
wherein  this  knight  was  the  chiefe,  Sir  Flash — 
one  that  married  a  daughter  of  mine,  ladefied  her, 
turn'd  two-thousand  poundes  worth  of  good  land  295 
of  hers  into  cash  within  the  first  weeke,  bought 
her  a  new  gowne  and  a  coach  ;  sent  her  to  seeke 
her  fortune  by  land,  whilst  himselfe  prepared 
for  his  fortune  by  sea  ;  tooke  in  fresh  flesh  at 
Belingsgate,  for  his  owne  diet,  to  serve  him  the  300 
whole  voyage — the  wife  of  a  certaine  usurer 
cald  Securitie,  who  hath  bene  the  broker  for 
'hem  in  all  this  businesse.  Please,  Maister 
Deputy,  worke  upon  that  now. 


scene ii]  (H^asfttDarD  J^oe  107 

Gold.  If  my  worshipfull  father  have  ended.     305 

Touch.   I  have,  it  shall  please  M  [aster]  Dep- 
uty. 

Gold.   Well  then,  under  correction 

Touch.   Now,  sonne,  come   over   'hem  with 
some  fine  guird,  as  thus,  "  Knight,  you  shall  be  310 
encountred,"   that   is,  had  to  the  Counter ;   or, 
"  Quicksilver,  I  will  put  you  in  a  crucible,"  or 
so. 

Gold.  Sir  Petronell  Flash,  I  am  sory  to  see 
such  flashes  as  these  proceede  from  a  gentleman  315 
of  your  quality  and  rancke  ;  for  mine  own  part, 
I  could  wish  I  could  say  I  could  not  see  them  ; 
but  such  is  the  misery  of  magistrates  and  men 
in  place,  that  they  must  not  winke  at  offenders. 
Take  him  aside  ;   I  wil  heare  you  anone,  sir.       320 

Touch.   I  like  this  wel,  yet ;  there's  some  grace 
i'  the  knight  left,  he  cries. 

Gold.  Francis  Quick-silver,  would  God  thou 
hadst  turnd  quack-salver,  rather  then  run  into 
these  dissolute  and  lewd  courses  !  It  is  great  325 
pitty  ;  thou  art  a  proper  yong  man,  of  an  honest 
and  cleane  face,  somewhat  neere  a  good  one ; 
God  hath  done  his  part  in  thee ;  but  thou  haste 
made  too  much,  and  beene  to  proud  of  that  face, 
with  the  rest  of  thy  body;  for  maintenance  of  330 
which  in  neate  and  garish  attire,  onely  to  be 
look'd  upon  by  some  light  housewifes,  thou  hast 


108  CasttoarD  J?oe  [activ. 

prodigally  consumed  much  of  thy  masters  estate  ; 
and  being  by  him   gently  admonish'd  at   several 
times,  hast  returnd  thy  selfe  haughty  and  rebel- 335 
lious  in  thine  answers,  thundring  out  uncivill  com- 
parisons, requiting  al  his   kindnes  with  a  course 
and  harsh  behaviour  ;  never  returning  thanks  for 
any  one  benefit,  but  receiving  all  as  if  they   had 
bin  debts  to  thee,  and  no  courtesies.      I  must  tel  340 
thee,  Francis,  these  are  manifest  signes  of  an  ill 
nature  ;  and  God  doth  often  punish  such  pride 
and  outrecui dance  with  scorne  and  infamy,  which 
is    the  worst   of  misfortune.      My    worshipfull 
father,  what  do  you  please  to  charge  them  with- 345 
all  ?      From  the  presse  I  wil  free  'hem,  Maister 
Constable. 

Con.   Then  He  leave  your  worship,  sir. 

Gold.  No,  you  may  stay  ;  there  will  be  other 
matters  against  'hem.  350 

Touch.  Sir,  I  do  charge  this  gallant,  Maister 
Quicksilver,  on  suspicion  of  felony ;  and  the 
knight  as  being  accessary  in  the  receipt  of  my 
goods. 

Quick.   O  God,  sir!  355 

Touch.  Hold  thy  peace,  impudent  varlot,  hold 
thy  peace  !  With  what  forehead  or  face  dost 
thou  offer  to  choppe  logick  with  me,  having  run 
such  a  race  of  riot  as  thou  hast  done  ?  Do's 
not  the  sight  of  this  worshipful  mans  fortune  360 


Scene  II.]  (toXtoatf)  %W  IO9 

and  temper  confound  thee,  that  was  thy  yonger 
fellow  in  houshold,  and  now  come  to  have  the 
place  of  a  judge  upon  thee  ?  Dost  not  observe 
this  ?  Which  of  al  thy  gallants  and  gamsters, 
thy  swearers  and  thy  swaggerers,  will  come  now365 
to  mone  thy  misfortune,  or  pitty  thy  penurie  ? 
They'le  looke  out  at  a  window,  as  thou  rid'st 
in  triumph  to  Tiborne,  and  crye,  "  Yonder 
goes  honest  Franck,  mad  Ouicksilver  !  "  "  He 
was  a  free  boone  companion,  when  hee  had  370 
money,"  sayes  one  ;  "  Hang  him,  foole  !  "  saies 
another  ;  "  he  could  not  keepe  it  when  he  had 
it  !  "  "A  pox  o'the  cullion,  his  Master,"  sais 
a  third,  "  he  has  brought  him  to  this ;  "  when 
their  pox  of  pleasure,  and  their  piles  of  perdition,  375 
would  have  bene  better  bestowed  upon  thee,  that 
hast  ventred  for  'hem  with  the  best,  and  by  the 
clew  of  thy  knavery  brought  thyselfe  weeping 
to  the  cart  of  calamity. 

ghiick.  Worshipfull  maister!  38° 

Touch.  Offer  not  to  speake,  crocodile  ;  I  will 
not  heare  a  sound  come  from  thee.  Thou  hast 
learnt  to  whine  at  the  play  yonder.  Maister 
Deputy,  pray  you  commit  'hem  both  to  safe 
custody,  till  I  be  able  farther  to  charge  'hem.      385 

£)uick.  O  me !  what  an  infortunate  thing 
am  I ! 

372  keepe  it,  Q2  keeepe. 

373  o'the  cullion,  Q3  oth  ;   his  Master,  Qq.  his  Mr. 


no  dBasitinarti  tyot  [activ. 

Pet.  Will  you  not  take  security,  sir? 

Touch.  Yes,  mary,  will  I,  Sir  Flash,  if  I  can 
find  him,  and  charge  him  as  deepe  as  the  best  390 
on  you.  He  has  beene  the  plotter  of  all  this ; 
he  is  your  inginer,  I  heare.  Maister  Deputy, 
you'll  dispose  of  these.  In  the  meane  time,  He 
to  my  Lo[rd]  Mayor,  and  get  his  warrant  to 
seize  that  serpent  Securitie  into  my  hands,  and  395 
seale  up  both  house  and  goods  to  the  kings  use 
or  my  satisfaction. 

Gold.   Officers,  take  'hem  to  the  Counter. 

Quick.,  Pet.   O  God  ! 

Touch.  Nay,  on,  on ;  you  see  the  issue  of  400 
your  sloth.  Of  sloth  commeth  pleasure,  of 
pleasure  commeth  riot,  of  ryot  comes  whoring, 
of  whoring  comes  spending,  of  spending  comes 
want,  of  want  comes  theft,  of  theft  comes  hang- 
ing ;   and  there  is  my  Quickesilver  fixt.  4°5 

Exeunt. 


ACTUS    QUINTUS. 

Scena  Prima. 

[Gertrude's  Lodging. ] 

[Enter~\  Gertrude  [and~\   Syndefie. 

Gertrude.  Ah,  Sinne  !  hast  thou  ever  read  i'the 
chronicle  of  any  lady  and  her  waiting-woman 
driven  to  that  extremity  that  we  are,  Sinne  ? 

Sindefy.   Not  I,  truely,  madam  ;  and  if  I  had, 
it  were  but  colde  comfort  should  come  out  of     5 
bookes,  now. 

Ger.  Why,  good  faith,  Sinne,  I  could  dine 
with  a  lamentable  storie,  now.  O  hone,  hone,  0 
no  nera !  &c.  Canst  thou  tell  nere  a  one, 
Synne  ?  10 

Sin.  None  but  mine  owne,  madam,  which  is 
lamentable  inough :  first  to  be  stolne  from  my 
friends,  which  were  worshipfull  and  of  good 
accompt,  by  a  prentise  in  the  habite  and  dis- 
guise of  a  gentleman,  and  here  brought  up  to  15 
London,  and  promis'd  mariage,  and  now  likely 
to  be  forsaken,  for  he  is  in  possibility  to  be  hangd  ! 

Ger.  Nay,  weepe  not,  good  Sinne ;  my  Pe- 


n2  (tottoaru  n?oe  [actv. 

tronell  is  in  as  good  possibilitie  as  he.  Thy 
miseries  are  nothing  to  mine,  Sinne  ;  I  was  more  20 
than  promis'd  marriage,  Sinne;  I  had  it,  Sinne; 
and  was  made  a  lady ;  and  by  a  knight,  Sin  ; 
which  is  now  as  good  as  no  knight,  Sin.  And 
I  was  borne  in  London,  which  is  more  then 
brought  up,  Sin  ;  and  already  forsaken,  which  is  25 
past  likelihood,  Sin ;  and  instead  of  land  i'  the 
countrey,  all  my  knights  living  lies  i'  the  counter, 
Syn  ;  there's  his  castle  now  ! 

Sin.  Which  hee  cannot  be  forc't  out  off, 
madam.  3° 

Ger.  Yes,  if  he  would  live  hungry  a  weeke 
or  two.  Hunger,  they  say,  breakes  stone  ivals. 
But  he  is  eene  wel  inough  serv'd,  Sin,  that  so 
soone  as  ever  he  had  got  my  hand  to  the  sale 
of  my  inheritance,  run  away  from  me,  and  I  35 
had  bene  his  punke,  God  blesse  us !  Would 
the  knight  o'  the  sunne,  or  Palmerin  of  England, 
have  usd  their  ladies  so,  Syn  ?  or  Sir  Lancelot, 
or  Sir  Tristram  ? 

Sin.   I  doe  not  know,  madam.  4° 

Ger.  Then  thou  know'st  nothing,  Syn.  Thou 
art  a  foole,  Syn.  The  knighthood  now  a  daies 
are  nothing  like  the  knighthood  of  old  time. 
They  rid  a  horseback  ;  ours  goe  a  foote.  They 
were  attended   by  their  squires ;  ours  by  their  45 

41    Ger.  Qz  Gry.  45    Ours,  Qz  our. 


Scene  I.]  (tottoatD  $>0e  H3 

lacquaies.  They  went  buckled  in  their  armor; 
ours  muffled  in  their  cloaks.  They  travaild 
wildernesses  and  desarts  ;  ours  dare  scarce  walke 
the  streets.  They  were  stil  prest  to  engage  their 
honour ;  ours  stil  ready  to  paune  their  cloaths.  5° 
They  would  gallop  on  at  sight  of  a  monster; 
ours  run  away  at  sight  of  a  serjeant.  They 
would  helpe  poore  ladies  ;  ours  make  poore  la- 
dies. 

Sin.   I,    madam,   they   were    knights    of   the  55 
Round-Table   at   Winchester,  that   sought    ad- 
ventures ;    but   these    of  the   Square    Table    at 
ordinaries,  that  sit  at  hazard. 

Ger.  True,  Syn  ;  let  him  vanish.  And  tel  me, 
what  shal  we  pawne  next  ?  60 

Sin.  I,  mary,  madam,  a  timely  consideration  ; 
for  our  hostes  (prophane  woman  !)  has  sworne 
by  bread  and  salt,  she  will  not  trust  us  another 
meale. 

Ger.  Let  it  stinke  in  her  hand  then.  He  not  65 
be  beholding  to  her.  Let  me  see ;  my  jewels  be 
gone,  and  my  gownes,  and  my  red  velvet  petti- 
cote  that  I  was  maried  in,  and  my  wedding  silke 
stockings,  and  al  thy  best  apparel,  poore  Syn  ! 
Good  faith,  rather  then  thou  shouldest  pawne  a  7° 
ragge  more,  Il'd  lay  my  ladiship  in  lavender — if 
I  knew  where. 

59    True,  Syn,  Q3  Trie.  71    IP  J  lay,  Q3  Il'e  lay. 


1 14  (tottoarD  l?oe  [act  v. 

Sin.  Alas,  madam,  your  ladiship! 

Ger.  I,  why  ?  You  do  not  scorne  my  ladi- 
ship, though  it  is  in  a  wastcoate  ?  Gods  my  75 
life  !  you  are  a  peate  indeed !  Do  I  offer  to 
morgage  my  ladiship  for  you  and  for  your  availe, 
and  do  you  turne  the  lip  and  the  alas  to  my 
ladiship  ? 

Sin.   No,  madam  ;   but  I  make  question  who  80 
will  lend  any  thing  upon  it  ? 

Ger.  Who  ?  Marry,  inow,  I  warrant  you,  if 
you'le  seeke  'hem  out.  I'm  sure  I  remember  the 
time  when  I  would  ha'  given  a  thousand  pound 
(if  I  had  had  it)  to  have  bin  a  ladie  ;  and  I  hope  85 
I  was  not  bred  and  borne  with  that  appetite 
alone  :  some  other  gentle-borne  o'  the  citie  have 
the  same  longing,  I  trust.  And  for  my  part,  I 
would  afford  'hem  a  peny'rth;  my  ladiship  is 
little  the  worse  for  the  wearing,  and  yet  I  would  90 
bate  a  good  deale  of  the  summe.  I  would  lend 
it  (let  me  see)  for  40  li.  in  hand,  Syn ;  that  would 
apparell  us;  and  ten  pound  a  yeare  ;  that  would 
keepe  me  and  you,  Syn  (with  our  needles)  ;  and 
wee  should  never  need  to  be  beholding  to  our  95 
scirvy  parents.  Good  Lord  !  that  there  are  no 
fayries  now  adayes,  Syn. 

Sin.   Why,  madame  ? 

Ger.  To  doe  miracles,  and  bring  ladyes  money. 
Sure,  if  wee  lay  in  a  cleanly  house,  they  would  100 


Scene  1]  (totteD  fyOt  1 1 5 

haunt  it,  Synne  ?  He  trie.  He  sweepe  the  cham- 
ber soone  at  night,  and  set  a  dish  of  water  o'  the 
hearth.  A  fayric  may  come,  and  bring  a  pearle, 
or  a  diamonde.  Wee  do  not  know,  Syn.  Or, 
there  may  be  a  pot  of  gold  hid  o'  the  backe-side,  105 
if  we  had  tooles  to  digge  for't  ?  Why  may  not 
wee  two  rise  early  i'  the  morning,  Syn,  afore 
any  body  is  up,  and  find  a  Jewell  i'  the  streets 
worth  a  100  li  ?  May  not  some  great  court- 
lady,  as  she  comes  from  revels  at  midnight,  lookeno 
out  of  her  coach  as  'tis  running,  and  loose  such 
a  jewell,  and  wee  finde  it  ?      Ha  ? 

Sin.  They  are  prettie  waking  dreames,  these. 

Ger.  Or  may  not  some  olde  usurer  bee  drunke 
over-night,  with  a  bagge  of  money,  and  leave  it  115 
behinde  him  on  a  stall  ?  For  God-sake,  Syn, 
let's  rise  to  morrow  by  breake  of  day,  and  see. 
I  protest,  law,  if  I  had  as  much  money  as  an 
alderman,  I  would  scatter  some  on't  i'th'  streetes 
for  poore  ladyes  to  finde,  when  their  knights  120 
were  layd  up.  And,  nowe  I  remember  my  song 
o'  the  Golden  Showre,  why  may  not  I  have  such 
a  fortune  ?  He  sing  it,  and  try  what  luck  I  shall 
have  after  it. 

Fond  fables  tell  of  olde,  125 

How  fove  in  Danaes  lappe 
Fell  in  a  showre  of  gold, 

By  which  shee  caught  a  clappe  ; 


n6  (tettoatu  J?oe  [actv. 

O,  had  it  been  my  hap, 
{How  ere  the  blow  doth  threaten)  l1° 

So  well  I  like  the  play, 

That  I  could  wish  all  day 
And  night  to  be  so  beaten. 

Enter  Mistris  Touchstone. 

0  heer's  my  mother !   Good  lucke,  I  hope.    Ha' 
you  brought  any  money,  mother?      Pray  you,  135 
mother,  your  blessing.     Nay,  sweet  mother,  doe 
not  weepe. 

Mistris  Touchstone.    God  blesse  you  !    I  would 

1  were  in  my  grave. 

Ger.  Nay,  deare  mother,  can  you  steale  no  140 
more  money  from  my  father  ?      Dry  your  eyes, 
and  comfort  me.      Alas  !   it  is  my  knights  fault, 
and  not  mine,  that  I  am  in  a  wast-coate,  and 
attyred  thus  simply. 

Mist.  T.  Simply?  Tis  better  then  thou  de-145 
serv'st.  Never  whimper  for  the  matter.  Thou 
should' st  have  look 7/  before  thou  hadst  leap't.  Thou 
wert  a  fire  to  be  a  lady,  and  now  your  ladishippe 
and  you  may  both  blowe  at  the  cole,  for  ought  I 
know.  Self e  doe,  selfe  have.  The  hastie  person  150 
never  wants  woe,  they  say. 

Ger.   Nay  then  mother,  you  should  ha  look'd 
to    it.     A  bodie   would   thinke  you   were    the 

147  looked,  Qi  loook't. 


Scene  I.]  (tottOatf)  tyQt  H7 

older!  I  did  but  my  kinde,  I.  He  was  a  knight, 
and  I  was  fit  to  be  a  lady.  Tis  not  lacke  of  155 
liking,  but  lacke  of  living,  that  severs  us.  And 
you  talke  like  your  selfe  and  a  cittiner  in  this, 
yfaith.  You  shew  what  husband  you  come  on, 
i-wys.  You  smell  the  Touch-stone — he  that 
will  doe  more  for  his  daughter  that  he  has  mar- 160 
ryed  [to]  a  scirvie  gold-end  man  and  his  prentise, 
then  he  will  for  his  t'other  daughter,  that  has 
wedded  a  knight  and  his  customer.  By  this 
light,  I  thinke  hee  is  not  my  legittimate  father. 

Sin.   O  good  madam,  doe  not  take  up  your  165 
mother  so ! 

Mist.  T.  Nay,  nay,  let  her  eene  alone.  Let 
her  ladishippe  grieve  me  still,  with  her  bitter 
taunts  and  termes.  I  have  not  dole  inough  to 
see  her  in  this  miserable  case,  I,  without  her  170 
velvet  gownes,  without  ribbands,  without  jewels, 
without  French-wires,  or  cheat  bread,  or  quailes, 
or  a  little  dog,  or  a  genttleman  usher,  or  any- 
thing, indeed,  that's  fit  for  a  lady — 

Sin.    [aside]  Except  her  tongue.  175 

Mist.  T.  And  I  not  able  to  releive  her,  neither, 
being  kept  so  short  by  my  husband.  Well,  God 
knowes  my  heart.  I  did  little  thinke  that  ever 
shee  should  have  had  need  of  her  sister  Golding  ! 

Ger.   Why    mother,    I    ha    not    yet.      Alas!  180 
good  mother,  bee  not  intoxicate  for  mee ;  I  am 

161    [fo]  a  scirvie,  Qq.  omit  to. 


n8  Caattoarfc  tyot  [actv. 

well  inough  ;  I  would  not  change  husbands  with 
my  sister,  I.  The  legge  of  a  larke  is  better  then 
the  body  of  a  kight. 

Mist.  T.    I  know  that,  but 185 

Ger.   What,  sweete  mother,  what  ? 

Mist.  T.  It's  but  ill  food,  when  nothing's  left 
but  the  claw. 

Ger.  That's  true,  mother.     Aye  me. 

Mist.    T.    Nay,  sweete  lady-bird,  sigh    not.  190 
Child,    madame ;    why  doe    you   weepe    thus  ? 
Bee  of  good  cheere  ;   I  shall  die  if  you  crye,  and 
marre  your  complexion  thus. 

Ger.  Alas  mother,  what  should  I  doe  ? 

Mist.  T.   Goe  to  thy  sister's,  childe ;   shee'lei95 
be  proude  thy  lady-ship  will  come  under   her 
roofe.      Shee'le  winne  thy  father  to  release  thy 
knight,  and  redeeme  thy  gownes,  and  thy  coach 
and  thy  horses,  and  set  thee  up  againe. 

Ger.   But  will  shee  get  him  to  set  my  knight  200 
up  too  ? 

Mist.  T.  That  shee  will,  or    anything    else 
thou'lt  aske  her. 

Ger.  I  will  begin  to  love  her  if  I  thought  she 
would  doe  this.  205 

Mist.  T.  Try  her,  good  chucke  ;  I  warrant 
thee. 

Ger.   Doost  thou  thinke  shee'le  doo't  ? 

Sin.    I,  madame,  and  be  glad   you  will   re- 
ceive it.  210 


Scene  II]  (totfcOatf)  fiW  I  19 

Mist.  T.  That's  a  good  mayden,  shee  tells 
you  trew.  Come,  He  take  order  for  your  debts 
i'  the  ale-house. 

Ger.  Goe,  Syn,  and  pray  for  thy  Franck,  as 
I  will  for  my  Pet.  [Exeunt.~\%i$ 

[Actus    Quintus.     Scena  Secunda. 

Goldsmith's  Row.~\ 

Enter  Touchstone,  Goulding,  Woolfe. 

Touchstone.  I  will  receive  no  letters,  M  [aster] 
Woolf,  you  shal  pardon  me. 

Golding.   Good  father  let  me  entreat  you. 

Touch.     Sonne    Goulding,    I    will    not     be 
tempted  ;   I  finde  mine  owne  easie  nature,  and  I     5 
know  not  what  a  well-pend,  subtile  letter  may 
worke  upon  it ;  there  may  be  tricks,  packing, 
doe  you  see  ?      Returne  with  your  packet,  sir. 

Wolf.   Beleeve  it  sir,  you  need  feare  no  pack- 
ing here ;    these  are  but  letters  of  submission   10 
all. 

Touch.  Sir,  I  doe  looke  for  no  submission.  I 
will  beare  my  selfe  in  this  like  blinde  Justice. 
Worke  upon  that  now.  When  the  sessions  come, 
they  shall  heare  from  me.  15 

Gold.  From  whom  come  your  letters,  M  [as- 
ter] Woolfe  ? 


1 20  (tottoaru  ^oe  [act  v. 

Wolf.  And't  please  you,  sir,  one  from  Sir 
Petronell,  another  from  Francis  Quickesilver, 
and  a  third  from  old  Securitie,  who  is  almost  20 
madde  in  prison.  There  are  two  to  your  wor- 
ship ;  one  from  M  [aster]  Francis,  sir,  another 
from  the  knight. 

Touch.  I  doe  wonder,  M  [aster]  Woolfe,  why 
you  should  travaile  thus,  in  a  businesse  so  con-  25 
trarie  to  kinde,  or  the  nature  o'  your  place ; 
that  you,  beeing  the  keeper  of  a  prison,  should 
labour  the  release  of  your  prisoners  ;  whereas, 
mee  thinkes,  it  were  farre  more  naturall  and 
kindely  in  you  to  be  ranging  about  for  more,  30 
and  not  let  these  scape  you  have  alreadie  under 
the  tooth.  But  they  say,  you  wolves,  when  you 
ha'  suck't  the  blood,  once  that  they  are  drie, 
you  ha'  done. 

Wolf.  Sir,  your  worship  may  descant  as  you  35 
please  o'  my  name  ;  but  I  protest  I  was  never 
so  mortified  with  any  mens  discourse  or  be- 
haviour in  prison  ;  yet  I  have  had  of  all  sorts  of 
men  i'  the  kingdome  under  my  keyes  ;  and  al- 
most of  all  religions  i'  the  land,  as  Papist,  Pro-  40 
testant,  Puritane,  Brownist,  Anabaptist,  Mil- 
lenary, Famely  o'  Love,  Jewe,  Turke,  Infidell, 
Atheist,  Good  Fellow,  &c. 

Gold.  And  which  of  all  these,  thinkes  M  [as- 
ter] Woolfe,  was  the  best  religion?  45 


scene ii]  CasttoarD  11)00  121 

Wolf.  Troth,  M  [aster]  Deputie,  they  that 
pay  fees  best  :  we  never  examine  their  con- 
sciences farder. 

Gold.     I    beleeve    you,     M  [aster]     Woolfe. 
Good   faith,  sir,  here's  a  great  deale  of  humil-  50 
itie  i'  these  letters  ! 

Wolf.  Humilitie,  sir  ?  I.  Were  your  wor- 
shippe  an  eye-witnesse  of  it  you  would  say  so. 
The  knight  will  i'  the  Knights- Ward,  doe  what 
we  can,  sir  ;  and  Maister  Quickesilver  would  SS 
be  i'  the  Hole  if  we  would  let  him.  I  never 
knew  or  saw  prisoners  more  penitent,  or  more 
devout.  They  will  sit  you  up  all  night  singing 
of  psalmes,  and  aedifying  the  whole  prison  j  onely 
Securitie  sings  a  note  to  high  sometimes,  be-  60 
cause  he  lyes  i'  the  Two-penny  Ward,  farre  of, 
and  can  not  take  his  tune.  The  neighbours 
can  not  rest  for  him,  but  come  every  morning 
to  aske  what  godly  prisoners  we  have. 

Touch.   Which  on  'hem  is't  is  so  devout,  the  65 
knight  or  the  t'other  ? 

Wolf.  Both,  sir;  but  the  young  man  espe- 
cially. I  never  heard  his  like.  He  has  cut  his 
hayre  too.  He  is  so  well  given,  and  has  such 
good  gifts.  Hee  can  tell  you,  almost  all  the  70 
stories  of  the  Booke  of  Martyrs,  and  speake  you 
all  the  Sicke-Mans  Salve  without  booke. 

66   C other,  Qq.  to'ther. 


122  (tettoarfc  S?oe  [act  v. 

Touch.  I,  if  he  had  had  grace — he  was  brought 
up  where  it  grew,  iwis.      On,  Maister  Wolfe. 

Wolf.  And  he  has  converted  one  Fangs,  a  75 
Serjeant,  a  fellow  could  neither  write  nor  read ; 
he  was  call'd  the  Bandog  o'  the  Counter  ;  and  he 
has  brought  him  already  to  pare  his  nailes  and 
say  his  prayers ;  and  'tis  hop'd,  he  will  sell  his 
place  shortly,  and  become  an  intelligencer.  80 

Touch.  No  more;  I  am  comming  allready. 
If  I  should  give  any  farder  eare,  I  were  taken. 
Adue,  good  Maister  Wolfe.  Sonne,  I  doe 
feele  mine  owne  weakenesses ;  do  not  im- 
portune me.  Pity  is  a  rheume  that  I  am  sub-  85 
ject  too;  but  I  will  resist  it.  Maister  Wolfe, 
Fish  is  cast  away  that  is  cast  in  drye  pooles.  Tell 
Hypocrisie,  it  will  not  do ;  I  have  touchd  and 
tried  too  often ;  I  am  yet  proofe,  and  I  will  re- 
maine  so.  When  the  sessions  come,  they  shall  90 
heare  from  me.  In  the  meane  time,  to  all  suites, 
to  all  intreaties,  to  all  letters,  to  all  trickes,  I 
will  be  deafe  as  an  adder  and  blind  as  a  beetle, 
lay  mine  eare  to  the  ground,  and  lock  mine 
eyes  i'  my  hand  against  all  temptations.      Exit.  95 

Gold.  You  see,  Maister  Wolfe,  how  inexo- 
rable he  is.  There  is  no  hope  to  recover  him. 
Pray  you  commend  me  to  my  brother  knight, 
and  to  my  fellow  Francis  ;  present  'hem  with 
this  small  token  of  my  love;  tell  'hem,  I  wish  100 


Scene  III.]  (tettoatf)  ty*t  1 23 

I  could  do  'hem  any  worthier  office  ;  but  in  this, 
'tis  desperate  :  yet  I  will  not  faile  to  trie  the 
uttermost  of  my  power  for  'hem.  And  sir,  as 
farre  as  I  have  any  credit  with  you,  pray  you 
let  'hem  want  nothing;  though  I  am  not  ambi-105 
tious  they  should  know  so  much. 

Wolf.  Sir,  both  your  actions  and  words 
speake  you  to  be  a  true  gentleman.  They  shall 
know  onely  what  is  fit,  and  no  more.      Exeunt. 

[Actus   Quintus.     Scena  Tertia. 
The  Counter.      Enter  Bramble  to  Holdfast .] 

Holdfast.  Who  would  you  speake  with,  sir  ? 

Bramble.  I  would  speake  with  one  Securitie 
that  is  prisoner  here. 

Hold.  You  are  welcome,  sir.  Stay  there,  lie 
call  him  to  you.      Maister  Securitie  !  5 

\_Enter  Security.] 

Security.   Who  call's  ? 

Hold.  Here's  a  gentleman  would  speake  with 
you. 

Sec.  What  is  he  ?     Is't  one  that  grafts  my 
forehead  now  I  am  in   prison,  and  comes  to  see  10 
how  the  homes  shoote  up  and  prosper  ? 

Hold.  You  must  pardon  him,  sir ;  the  old 
man  is  a  little  craz'd  with  his  imprisonment. 

Enter  Bramble,  etc. ,  Qq.  Holdfast,  Bramble,  Securitie. 


1 24  (tottoaru  J?oe  [act  v. 

Sec.  What  say  you  to  me,  sir  ?     Looke  you 
here,  my  learned  counsaile,  M  [aster]  Bramble!   15 
Crye  you    mercie,  sir!      When    sawe   you  my 
wife  ? 

Bram.  Shee  is    now  at  my  house,  sir ;   and 
desir'd  mee  that  I  would  come  to  visite  you, 
and   inquire  of  you  your  case,  that  we  might  20 
worke  some  meanes  to  get  you  foorth. 

Sec.  My  case,  M  [aster]  Bramble,  is  stone 
walles  and  yron  grates  ;  you  see  it,  this  is  the 
weakest  part  on  't.  And  for  getting  me  forth, 
no  meanes  but  hang  my  selfe,  and  so  to  be  25 
carryed  foorth,  from  which  they  have  here  bound 
me  in  intollerable  bands. 

Bram.   Why,  but  what  is  't  you  are  in  for,  sir  ? 

Sec.  For  my  sinnes,  for  my  sinnes,  sir, 
whereof  manage  is  the  greatest.  O,  had  I  never  30 
marryed,  I  had  never  knowne  this  purgatorie,  to 
which  hell  is  a  kinde  of  coole  bathe  in  respect ; 
my  wives  confederacie,  sir,  with  olde  Touch- 
stone, that  shee  might  keepe  her  jubilaee  and  the 
feast  of  her  new-moone.  Doe  you  understand  35 
me,  sir  ? 

Enter  ^uickesilver. 

Quicksilver.  Good  sir,  goe  in  and  talke  with 
him.  The  light  dos  him  harme,  and  his  exam- 
ple will  bee  hurtfull  to  the  weake  prisoners.    Fie, 


Scene  III.]  (tettOarD  fyOt  1 25 

Father  Securitie,  that  you'le  bee  still  so  prophane!  40 
Will  nothing  humble  you  ? 

\_Exeunt     Security,   Bramble,   Holdfast    and 
Quicksilver.'] 

Enter  two  Prisoners,  with  a  friend. 

Friend.  What's  he  ? 

Prisoner  I.  O,  hee  is  a  rare  yong  man  !  Doe 
you  not  know  him  ? 

Friend.   Not  I.      I   never  saw  him,  I  can  re-  45 
member. 

Prisoner  2.  Why,  it  is  he  that  was  the  gal- 
lant prentise  of  London — M  [aster]  Touch- 
stones man. 

Friend.  Who  ? — Quickesilver  ?  50 

Pris.  1.   I,  this  is  hee. 

Friend.  Is  this  hee  ?  They  say  he  has  beene 
a  gallant  indeede. 

Pris.  [/.]  O,  the  royallest  fellow  that  ever 
was  bred  up  i'  the  citie.  He  would  play  you  his  55 
thousand  pound  a  night  at  dice ;  keepe  knights 
and  lords  companie  ;  go  with  them  to  baudie 
houses;  had  his  sixe  men  in  a  liverie;  kept  a 
stable  of  hunting  horses  and  his  wench  in  her 
velvet  gowne  and  her  cloth  of  silver.  Heres  one  60 
knight  with  him  here  in  prison. 

Friend.   And  how  miserably  he  is  chaung'd  ! 

Pris.  I.   O,  that's  voluntary  in  him  :   he  gave 


126  Casttoatf)  $?oe  [act  v. 

away  all  his  rich  clothes,  assoone  as  ever  hee 
came  in  here,  among  the  prisoners  ;  and  will  eate  65 
o'  the  basket,  for  humilitie. 

Friend.   Why  will  he  doe  so  ? 

[Pm.  /.]  Alas,  hee  has  no  hope  oflife  !  Hee 
mortifies  himselfe.  He  dos  but  linger  on  till 
the  sessions.  70 

Pris.  2.  O,  he  has  pen'd  the  best  thing,  that 
hee  calles  his  Repentance  or  his  Last  Fare-well, 
that  ever  you  heard.  Hee  is  a  pretie  poet ;  and 
for  prose — you  would  wonder  how  many  prison- 
ers he  has  help't  out,  with  penning  petitions  for  75 
'hem,  and  not  take  a  penny.  Looke  !  this  is 
the  knight,  in  the  rugge  gowne.      Stand  by. 

Enter  Petronel,  Bramble,  ^hiickesilver. 

Bramble.  Sir,  for  Securities  case,  I  have  told 
him  :  say  he  should  be  condemned  to  be  carted 
or  whipt  for  a  bawde,  or  so,  why,  He  lay  an  ex-  80 
ecution  on  him  o'  two  hundred  pound;  let  him 
acknowledge  a  judgement,  he  shal  do  it  in  halfe 
an  howre  ;  they  shal  not  all  fetch  him  out  with- 
out paying  the  execution,  o'  my  word. 

Petronel.   But  can  we  not  be  bay'ld,  M  [aster]    85 
Bramble  ? 

Bram.   Hardly  ;  there  are  none  of  the  judges 

68   [Pris.  /.]   Alas,  £q.    Pris.  2. 

Enter  Petronel,  i^uickesil'ver,  Qq.  add  Woolfe. 


scene  in.]  cBas^ttoarD  J^oe  127 

in  towne,  else  you  should  remove  your  selfe  (in 
spight  of  him)  with  a  habeas  corpus.  But  if  you 
have  a  friend  to  deliver  your  tale  sensibly  to  some  9° 
justice  o'  the  towne,  that  hee  may  have  feeling 
of  it  (doe  you  see),  you  may  be  bayl'd ;  for  as 
I  understand  the  case,  tis  onely  done  in  ter- 
rorem ;  and  you  shall  have  an  action  of  false 
imprisonment  against  him  when  you  come  out,  95 
and  perhaps  a  thousand  pound  costes. 

Enter  M.[aster]   Woolfe. 

Quicksilver.   How   now,   M [aster]    Woolfe? 
what  newes  ?  what  returne  ? 

Wolf.      Faith,  bad  all :    yonder  will   bee  no 
letters    received.      He  saves   the   sessions    shall  100 
determine  it.      Onelv,  M  [aster]  Deputie  Gold- 
ing  commends  him  to  you,  and  with  this  token 
wishes  he  could  doe  you  other  good. 

Quick.  I  thanke  him.  Good  M  [aster]  Bram- 
ble, trouble  our  quiet  no  more;  doe  not  molest  105 
us  in  prison  thus,  with  your  winding  devises  ; 
prav  you  depart.  For  my  part,  I  commit  my 
cause  to  him  that  can  succour  mee  ;  let  God 
worke  his  will.  M [aster]  Woolfe,  I  pray  you 
let  this  be  distributed  among  the  prisoners,  and  no 
desire  'hem  to  pray  for  us. 

{Exit  Bramble.~\ 

107    my  part,  Qz  pat ;   Q 3  port. 


128  Casttoatu  H?oe  [act  v. 

Wolf.  It  shall  bee  done,  M  [aster]  Francis. 

Pris.  I.  An  excellent  temper  ! 

Pris.  2.  Nowe  God  send  him  good-lucke  ! 

Exeunt  [two  Prisoners  and  Friend.] 
Pet.    But    what     said    my    father    in    lawe,ii5 
M  [aster]  Woolfe? 

Enter  Hold[fast.~] 

Holdfast.   Here's  one  would  speake  with  you, 
sir. 

Wolf.   He  tell  you  anon,  Sir  Petronell ;    [Exit 
Petronell.~\    who  is't  ?  I20 

Hold.  A    gentleman,    sir,    that   will    not   be 
seene. 

Enter  Gold[ing~], 

Wolf.  Where   is   he?      M [aster]    Deputie ! 

your  wor[ship]  is  wel-come. 

Golding.   Peace  !  I25 

Wolf.  Away,  srah  !  [Exit  Holdfast. ,] 

Gold.  Good  faith,  M  [aster]  Woolfe,  the  es- 
tate of  these  gentlemen,  for  whome  you  were  so 
late  and  willing  a  sutor,  doth  much  affect  mee ; 
and  because  I  am  desirous  to  doe  them  some  130 
faire  office,  and  find  there  is  no  meanes  to  make 
my  father  relent  so  likely  as  to  bring  him  to  be 
a  spectator  of  their  miseries  ;  I  have  ventur'd  on 
a  device,  which  is,  to  make  my  selfe  your  pris- 


Scene  IV]  (totfoarD  fyOZ  1 29 

oner:  entreating,  you  will  presently  goe  report  135 
it  to  my  father,  and  (fayning  an  action,  at  sute 
of  some  third  person)  pray  him  by  this  token, 
[giving  a  ring']  that  he  will  presently,  and  with 
all  secrecie,  come  hether  for  my  bayle ;  which 
trayne,  if  any  I  know,  will  bring  him  abroad ;  140 
and  then,  having  him  here,  I  doubt  not  but  we 
shall  be  all  fortunate  in  the  event. 

Wolf.  Sir,  I  wil   put  on   my  best  speede  to 
effect  it.      Please  you  come  in. 

Gold.  Yes;  and  let  me  rest  conceal'd,  I  pray  145 
you. 

Wolf.  See  here  a  benefit  truely  done,  when  it 
is  done  timely,  freely,  and  to  no  ambition. 

[Exeunt.] 

[Actus  Quintus.     Scena  Quarta. 

Touchstone 's  House.] 

Enter  Touchstone,  Wife,  Daughters,  Syn[defie~], 
Winyfred. 

Touchstone.  I  will  sayle  by  you,  and  not  heare 
you,  like  the  wise  Ulisses. 
Mildred.   Deare  father  1 
Mistress  Touchstone.   Husband  ! 
Gertrude.   Father  !  s 

Exeunt,  Qq.  Exit. 


130  (totUmtU  l?0e  [Act  V. 

Winifred  and  Sindefy.  M  [aster]  Touch- 
stone ! 

Touch.  Away,  syrens,  I  wil  inmure  my  selfe 
against  your  cryes,  and  locke  my  selfe  up  to 
your  lamentations.  10 

Mist  T.  Gentle  husband,  heare  me  ! 

Ger.  Father,  it  is  I,  father ;  my  Lady  Flash. 
My  sister  and  I  am  friends. 

Mild.  Good  father ! 

Win.  Be  not  hardned,  good  M  [aster]  Touch-  15 
stone ! 

Sin.   I  pray  you,  sir,  be  mercifull ! 

Touch.   I  am  deafe ;   I  doe  not  heare  you ;  I 
have  stopt  mine  eares  with  shoomakers  waxe, 
and  drunke  Lethe  and  mandragora  to  forget  you.  20 
All  you  speake  to  mee  I  commit  to  the  ayre. 

Enter  Woolfe. 

Mild.   How  now,  M [aster]  Woolfe? 

Wolf.  Where's  M [aster]  Touchstone?  I 
must  speake  with  him  presently ;  I  have  lost 
my  breath  for  hast.  25 

Mild.  What's  the  matter  sir?  Pray  all  be 
well. 

Wolf.  Maister  Deputy  Goulding  is  arrested 
upon  an  execution,  and  desires  him  presently  to 
come  to  him  forthwith.  3° 

10  your  lamentations,  Qq  our. 


Scene  IV]  CaSttoatf)  tyOC  13 1 

Mild.  Aye  me  !  doe  you  heare,  father  ? 

Touch.  Tricks,  tricks,  confederacie,  tricks ! 
I  have  'hem  in  my  nose — I  sent  'hem  ! 

Wolf.   Who's   that  ?      Maister  Touchstone  ? 

Mist.  T.  Why  it  is    M  [aster]  Wolfe   him-  35 
selfe,  husband. 

Mild.  Father! 

Touch.   I  am  deafe  still,  I  say.     I  will  neither 
yeeld  to  the  song  of  the  syren  nor  the  voice  of 
the  hyena,  the  teares  of  the  crocodile  nor  the  4° 
howling   o'   the   Wolfe :    avoid    my   habitation, 
monsters  ! 

Wolf.  Why,  you  are  not  mad,  sir  ?  I  pray 
you  looke  forth,  and  see  the  token  I  have  brought 
you,  sir.  4S 

Touch.   Ha  !   what  token  is  it  ? 

Wolf   Do  you  know  it,  sir  ? 

Touch.  My  sonne  Gouldings  ring  !  Are  you 
in  earnest  Mai[ster]  Wolfe? 

Wolf.   I,  by  my  faith,  sir.      He  is  in  prison,  50 
and  requir'd  me  to  use  all  speed  and  secrecie  to 
you. 

Touch.  My  cloake  there  (pray  you  be  patient). 
I  am  plagu'd  for  my  austeritie.  My  cloake ! 
At  whose  suite,  Maister  Wolfe  ?  55 

Wolf   He  tell  you  as  we  goe  sir.  Exeunt. 


[Actus  Quintus.     Scena  Quinta. 

The  Counter.] 

Enter  Friend,  Prisoners. 

Friend.  Why,  but  is  his  offence  such  as  he 
cannot  hope  of  life  ? 

Prisoner  I.  Troth,  it  should  seeme  so ;  and 
'tis  a  great  pity,  for  he  is  exceeding  penitent. 

Friend.   They  say  he  is  charg'd  but  on  sus-     5 
picion  of  felony  yet. 

Prisoner  2.  I,  but  his  maister  is  a  shrewd  fel- 
low ;  heele  prove  great  matter  against  him. 

Friend.  I'de  as  live  as  anything  I  could  see  his 
Farewell.  10 

Pris.  1.  O,  tis  rarely  written :  why  Tobie 
may  get  him  to  sing  it  to  you ;  hee's  not  curious 
to  any  body. 

Pris.  2.   O  no  !      He  would  that  all  the  world 
should  take  knowledge  of  his  repentance,  and  15 
thinkes  he  merits  in't,  the  more  shame  he  suf- 
fers. 

Pris.  1.   Pray  thee,  try  what  thou  canst  doe. 

Pris.  2.   I   warrant  you  he  will   not  deny  it, 
if  he  be  not  hoarce  with  the  often  repeating  of   20 
it.  Exit. 

Pris.  1.  You    never   saw   a    more   courteous 


Scene  V.]  (WtttttrD  ^Oe  133 

creature  then   he  is ;  and  the  knight  too  :  the 
poorest    prisoner   of  the   house   may   command 
'hem.       You    shall     heare    a    thing    admirably  25 
pend. 

Friend.   Is  the  knight  any  sc holler  too  ? 

Pris.  1.   No,  but   he  will   speake  verie  well, 
and  discourse  admirably  of  running  horses  and 
White-Friers,  and  against  baudes,  and  of  cocks  ;  30 
and  talke  as  loude  as  a  hunter,  but  is  none. 

Enter  Wolfe  and  Touchstone. 

Wolf.  Please  you  stay  here,  sir,  He  cal  his 
worship  downe  to  you. 

[Exit  Wolf;  Touchstone  stands  apart,  right. ,] 

Pris.  1.  See,  he  has  brought  him,  and  the 
knight  too.      Salute  him.  35 

[Re-enter  [Prisoner  2  with~\  £hiick[silver'~\,  Pe- 
t\ronel  and  Security ;  Golding  folloiving, 
stands  apart,  left.~\ 

[Pris.  /.]  I  pray,  Sir,  this  gentleman,  upon 
our  report,  is  very  desirous  to  heare  some  piece 
of  your  Repentance. 

Quick.   Sir,  with  all  my  heart;  and,  as  I  told 
M  [aster]  Tobie,  I   shall  be   glad  to   have   any  40 
man  a  witnesse  of  it.      And  the  more  openly  I 

\_Rc\cnter  [Prisoner}.  In  the  Qq.  the  stage  direction  follows  re- 
pentance, and  the  speech  of  Prisoner  1  is  not  broken. 


134  (tottoatf)  $?oe  [actv. 

professe  it,  I  hope  it  will  appeare  the  hartier,  and 
the  more  unfained. 

Touchstone  [aside.~\  Who   is   this  ? — my    man 
Francis,  and  my  sonne  in  lawe  ?  45 

Quicksilver.   Sir,  it  is  all  the  testimonie  I  shall 
leave  behind  me  to  the  world,  and  my  master 
that  I  have  so  offended. 
Friend.   Good  sir ! 

Quick.  I  writ   it  when  my  spirits  were  op-  50 
prest. 

Petronel.   I,  He  be  sworne  for  you,  Francis. 
Quick.   It  is  in  imitation  of  Maningtons,  he 
that  was  hangd  at   Cambridge,  that  cut  of  the 
horses  head  at  a  blow.  55 

Friend.  So,  sir  ! 

Quick.  To  the  tune  of  I  waile  in  woe,  I  plunge 
in  paine. 

Pet.  An  excellent  ditty  it  is,  and  worthy  of  a 

new  tune.  60 

Quick.  In  Cheapside  famous  for  gold  and  plate, 

Quicksilver,  I  did  dwel  of  late  ; 

I  had  a  master  good  and  kind, 

That   would  have  wrought  me  to  his 

mind. 
He  bad  me  still,  Worke  upon  that,  65 

But,  alas  !   I  wrought  I  knew  not  what. 
He  was  a  Touchstone  black,  but  true  ; 
And  told  me  still  what  would  ensue  ; 


Scene  V.]  CaSttUarD  fyOt  135 

Yet  woe  is  me  !   I  would  not  learne ; 

I  saw,  alas  !  but  could  not  discerne  !        70 
Friend.   Excellent,  excellent  well. 
Gold.  [aside]  O  let  him  alone.     Hee  is  taken 
already. 

6)uick.  I  cast  my  coat  and  cap  away, 

I  went  in  silkes  and  sattens  gay,  75 

False  mettall  of  good  manners  I 

Did  dayly  coine  unlawfully. 

I  scornd  my  master,  being  drunke  ; 

/  kept  my  gelding  and  my  punke  ; 

And,  with  a  knight,  Sir  Flash,  by  name,  80 

Who  now  is  sory  for  the  same — 
Pet.   I  thanke  you,  Francis. 
ghtick.  I  thought  by  sea  to  runne  away, 

But  Thames  and  tempest  did  me  stay. 
Touch,  [aside]   This  cannot  be  fained  sure.  85 
Heaven  pardon  my  severity  !      The  ragged  colt, 
may  proove  a  good  horse. 

Gold,  [aside]    How  he  listens  !   and  is  trans- 
ported !      He  has  forgot  me. 

ghrick.   Still  Eastward  hoe  was  all  my  word :      9° 

But  westward  I  had  no  regard, 

Nor  never   thought   what   would  come 
after, 

As  did,  alas  !   his  youngest  daughter. 

At  last  the  black  oxe  trode  o'  my  foot e, 

And  I  saw  then  vjhat  longd  untoo  't ;       95 


136  (tottoaru  (pot  [actv. 

Now  cry  I,  "  Touchstone,  touch  me  stil, 
And  make  me  currant  by  thy  skill." 
Touch.   And  I  will  do  it,  Francis. 
Wolf.   Stay  him,  M  [aster]  Deputie;  now  is 
the  time:   we  shall  loose  the  song  else.  100 

Friend.   I   protest   it  is   the   best  that  ever  I 
heard. 

Quick.   How  like  you  it,  gentlemen  ? 
All.   O  admirable,  sir! 

Quick.   This  stanze  now  following  alludes  to  105 
the  story  of  Mannington,  from  whence  I  tooke 
my  project  for  my  invention. 
Friend.   Pray  you  goe  on,  sir. 
Quick.    O  Mannington,  thy  stories  shew, 

Thou  cutst  a  horse-head  off  at  a  blow,     "° 

But  I  confess e,  I  have  not  the  force 

For  to  cut  off  the  head  of  a  horse ; 

Yet  I  desire  this  grace  to  winne, 

That  I  may  cut  off  the  horse-head  of 

Sin, 
And  leave  his  body  in  the  dust  1 1 5 

Of  sinnes  high  way  and  bogges  of  lust, 
Wherby  I  may  take  Vertues  purse, 
And  live  with  her  for  better,  for  worse. 
Friend.  Admirable,  sir,  and  excellently  con-iao 
ceited  ! 

Quick.  Alas,  sir  ! 


scene  v.]  CasttoarD  $?oe  137 

Touch.  Sonne  Goulding  and  M  [aster]  Wolfe 
I  thank  you  :  the  deceipt  is  welcome,  especially 
from  thee,  whose  charitable  soule  in  this  hath 
shewne  a  high  point  of  wisedome  and  honesty.  125 
Listen,  I  am  ravished  with  his  repentance,  and 
could  stand  here  a  whole  prentiship  to  heare 
him. 

Friend.   Forth,  good  sir. 

£hiick.  This  is  the  last,  and  the  Farewell.        130 

Farewell  Cheapside,  farewel  sweet  trade 

Of  Goldsmithes  all,  that  never  shall  fade ; 

Farewell,  deare  fellow  prentises  all, 

And  be  you  warned  by  my  fall : 

Shun  usurers,  bauds,  and  dice,  and  drabs,    135 

Avoide  them  as  you  would  French  scabs. 

Seeke  not  to  goe  beyonde  your  tether, 

But  cut  your  thongs  unto  your  lether  ; 

So  shall  you  thrive  by  little  and  little, 

Scape  Tiborne,  Counters,  and  the  Spitle.        14° 

Touch.  And  scape  them  shalt  thou  my  peni- 
tent and  deare  Frances  ! 

®)uick.  Master! 

Pet.  Father! 

Touch.   I  can  no  longer  forbeare  to  doe  your  145 
humility  right.      Arise,  and  let  me  honour  your 
repentance  with  the  hearty  and  joyfull  embraces 


138  CaattrjarD  S?oe  [actv. 

of  a  father  and  friends  love.      Quicksilver,  thou 
hast  eate  into  my  breast,  Quicksilver,  with  the 
dropps   of  thy    sorrow,  and  kild  the  desperate  15° 
opinion  I  had  of  thy  reclaime. 

Shriek.  O,  sir,  I  am  not  worthy  to  see  your 
worshipfull  face  ! 

Pet.   Forgive  me  father. 

Touch.   Speake  no  more;  all  former  passages  155 
are  forgotten ;  and  here  my  word  shall  release 
you.     Thanke   this   worthy   brother,  and  kind 
friend,  Francis. — M  [aster]  Wolfe,  I  am  their 
bayle.  A  shoute  in  the  prison. 

Security.     Maister      Touchstone  !       Maister  160 
Touchstone  ! 

Touch.  Who's  that  ? 

Wolf.  Securitie,  sir. 

Sec.  Pray  you,  sir,  if  youle  be  wonne  with  a 
song,  heare  my  lamentable  tune  too :  165 

Song. 

O  Maister  Touchstone, 

My  heart  is  full  of  woe  : 
Alasse,  I  am  a  cuckold  ! 

And  why  should  it  be  so  ? 
Because  I  was  a  usurer  170 

And  bawd,  as  all  you  know, 
For  which,  again  I  tell  you, 

My  heart  is  full  of  woe. 


Scene  V]  CafitUmrD  tyQt  1 39 

Touch.   Bring  him   forth,  Maister  Wolfe  and 
release  his  bands.     This  day  shalbe  sacred  to  175 
mercy  and  the  mirth  of  this  encounter  in    the 
Counter. — See,  we  are   encountred   with   more 
suters  ! 

Enter  Mist\ress~\    Touch  st\one~\,   Gyr[tred~\, 
Mil\dred~\,  Synd\_efy  and]   Winnif\red~\. 

Save  your  breath,  save  your  breath  !    All  things 
have  succeeded   to   your   wishes;    and   we   are  180 
heartely  satisfied  in  their  events. 

Gertrude.  Ah,  runaway,  runaway  !  have  I 
caught  you  ?  And  how  has  my  poore  knight 
done  all  this  while  ? 

Petronel.   Deare  lady-wife,  forgive  me!  i%$ 

Ger.  As  heartely  as  I  would  be  forgiven, 
knight.  Deare  father,  give  me  your  blessing,  and 
forgive  me  too  ;  I  ha'  bene  proud  and  lascivi- 
ous, father ;  and  a  foole,  father  ;  and  being  raisd 
to  the  state  of  a  wanton  coy  thing,  calld  a  lady,  190 
father ;  have  scorn'd  you,  father,  and  my  sister, 
and  my  sisters  velvet  cap,  too  ;  and  would  make 
a  mouth  at  the  citty  as  I  ridde  through  it  ;  and 
stop  mine  eares  at  Bow-bell  :  I  have  said  your 
beard  was  a  base  one,  father;  and  that  you  195 
look'd  like  Twierpipe,  the  taberer ;  and  that  my 
mother  was  but  my  midwife. 

Mistress  Touchstone.  Now,  God  forgi'  you, 
child,  madame  ! 


ho  (tottoaro  J?oe  [act  v. 

Touch.  No  more  repetitions.     What  is  else  200 
wanting  to  make  our  harmony  full  ? 

Golding.  Only  this,  sir,  that  my  fellow  Fraun- 
cis  make  amends  to  Mistresse  Syndefie  with 
manage. 

Quick.  With  all  my  heart.  205 

Gold.  And  Security  give  her  a  dower,  which 
shall  be  all  the  restitution  he  shall  make  of  that 
huge  masse  he  hath  so  unlawfully  gotten. 

Touch.  Excellently  devisd  !  a  good  motion  ! 
What  sayes  Maister  Securitie  ?  2IO 

Sec.  I  say  anything,  sir,  what  you'll  ha  me 
say.     Would  I  were  no  cuckold  ! 

Win.  Cuckold,  husband  ?  Why,  I  thinke 
this  wearing  of  yellow  has  infected  you. 

Touch.  Why,  Maister  Securitie,  that  should  215 
rather  be  a  comfort  to  you  then  a  corasive.     If 
you  be  a  cuckold,  it's  an  argument  you  have  a 
beautifull  woman  to  your  wife;  then  you  shall 
be   much   made   of;    you    shall    have   store  of 
friends,  never  want  mony  ;  you  shall  be  easd22o 
of  much  o'  your  wedlock  paine;  others  will  take 
it  for  you.      Besides,  you  being  a  usurer  (and 
likely  to  goe  to  hell),  the  devills  will  never  tor- 
ment you  :   they'll  take  you  for  one  o  their  owne 
race.      Againe,  if  you  be  a  cuckold,  and  know  225 
it  not,  you  are  an  innocent ;  if  you  know  it  and 
endure  it,  a  true  martyr. 


Scene  V.]  (tottOarfc  fi?Oe  141 

Secur.    I    am    resolv'd    sir.       Come    hether, 
Winny. 

Touch.  Well  then,  all  are  pleasd  ;  or  shall  be 230 
anone.     Maister  Wolfe  you  looke  hungry,  me 
thinkes.      Have  you  no  apparell  to  lend  Fraun- 
cis  to  shift  him  ? 

Ghcick.   No  sir,  nor  I   desire  none;  but  here 
make  it  my  sute,  that  I  may  goe  home,  through 235 
the  streetes,  in  these,  as  a  spectacle,  or  rather  an 
example  to  the  children  of  Cheapeside. 

Touch.   Thou  hast  thy  wish.      Now  London, 
looke  about, 
And  in  this  morrall  see  thy  glasse  runne  out: 
Behold  the  carefull  father,  thrifty  sonne,  240 

The  solemne  deedes,  which   each   of  us  have 

done; 
The  usurer  punisht,  and  from  fall  so  steepe 
The  prodigal!  child  reclaimd,  and  the  lost  sheepe. 


EPILOGUS 

[g)uick.~\  Stay,  sir,  I  perceive  the  multitude  are 
gatherd  together  to  view  our  comming  out  at  the 
Counter.  See  if  the  streets  and  the  fronts  of 
the  houses  be  not  stucke  with  people,  and  the 
windowes  fild  with  ladies,  as  on  the  solemne 
day  of  the  pageant ! 

O  may  you  find  in  this  our  pageant,  here, 
The  same  contentment  which  you  came  to  seeke ; 
And  as  that  Shew  but  drawes  you  once  a  yeare, 
May  this  attract  you  hether  once  a  weeke. 

Exeunt. 

[i^K?V£.]   In  the  Qq.  the  Epilogue  is  not  assigned. 
Exeunt.   Qq.  place  this  after  1.  243,  p.  141. 


iQoteg 


|£oteg  to  <£a£ttoarti  i^oe 

Single  'words  •will  be  found  in  the  Glossary. 

The  Three  Quartos  of  Eastward  Hoe. 

Three  quarto  versions  of  Eastward  Hoe  appeared  in  the  year  1605, 
all  "  printed  for  William  Aspley  "  and  showing  title-pages  practi- 
cally identical.  Only  one  of  these  versions  contains  the  passage 
against  the  Scotch  which  cast  two  of  the  authors  into  prison.  It  is 
plain  that  the  version  containing  the  cancelled  passage  preceded  the 
other  two  :  we  may  call  it  the  first  quarto  (0_i  ).  One  of  the  two 
other  quartos  is  entirely  reset.  The  play  has  here  been  crowded 
into  a  smaller  space,  and  appears  from  the  many  misprints  to  be  a 
hasty  and  inferior  version.  This  quarto  we  may  regard  as  the  third 
(23),  because  it  differs  most  widely  from  the  first,  and  because  it 
displays  an  evident  attempt  to  correct  slips  of  the  other  versions,  de- 
spite its  own  generous  crop  of  additional  errors.  As  between  0_2 
and  Q3,  there  is  a  tendency,  on  the  part  of  the  latter,  to  use  many 
abbreviations  (Gf  for  and,  a  dash  over  the  preceding  letter  to  indi- 
cate n,  briefer  forms  and  shortenings  of  proper  names,  for  example). 
There  is  a  closer  setting  of  type  and  snugger  spacing,  and  verse  is 
more  frequently  set  in  double  column.  As  a  result  23  runs  in  fours 
from  A  to  H,and  ends  with  H  4  -verso;  while  Q2  runs  A  to  I  in 
fours,  ending  in  I  4  verso..  Lastly,  many  printer's  errors  of  Q_2,  most 
of  them  trivial,  are  corrected  («.  g.  'r  •were  for  {'•were,  trade  for 
ttade,  madam  for  me  dam). 

Save  for  some  trifling  changes  about  that  part  of  the  play  in  which 
alterations  were  probably  made  when  the  passage  libelling  the  Scotch 
was  suppressed,  Q_i  and  Qz  appear  to  have  been  printed  from  the 
same  setting.  The  printer,  ordered  to  excise  the  objectionable 
words,  would  naturally  make  corrections  only  on  the  pages  contain- 
ing those  words,  and  would  endeavor  to  use  the  other  signatures  of 
his  copies  which  might  be  yet  unsold  in  making  up  the  revised  edi- 


146  jpotes 

tion.  The  libellous  passage  occurs  near  the  bottom  of  page  E  3 
■verso,  and  must  have  run  some  three  or  four  lines  over  on  page  E  4. 
Hence  two  pages  were  affected,  and  unless  the  type  was  still  stand- 
ing when  the  order  came  to  excise  (a  coincidence  not  impossible), 
E  3  and  E  4  verso  would  have  had  to  be  reprinted  as  well.  The 
passage  from  Qi,  omitted  in  Qz  and  Q3,  contains  seventy-nine 
words  ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  speech  which  contained  the  omitted 
words  there  is  an  added  passage  of  thirty-one  words  in  both  the  other 
quartos.  Moreover  in  Q2  (but  not  in  Q3)  the  added  passage  occurs 
on  page  E  4.  We  have  thus  to  account  in  £>2  (on  pages  E  3  -verso 
and  E  4),  for  a  spacing  sufficient  to  contain  forty-eight  words,  the 
difference  between  the  omitted  passage  (seventy-nine  words)  of  Qi 
and  the  added  passage  (thirty-one  words)  of  Qz. 

As  a  rule,  Qz  runs  thirty-eight  or  thirty-nine  lines  to  the  page, 
(there  are  thirty-eight  lines  on  E  3,  and  thirty-seven  on  E  4  -verso, 
the  pages  to  either  side  of  the  two  on  which  the  corrections  would 
have  to  be  made) .  But  on  E  3  verso  there  are  but  thirty-seven  lines  ; 
and  on  E  4  but  thirty-five,  owing  to  the  unusually  wide  spacing  above 
and  below  a  stage  direction.  Thus  on  E  3  -verso  at  least  one  line  has 
been  saved  ;  and  on  E  4  two  or,  if  need  be,  three.  We  have  thus  some 
four  or  five  lines  saved  in  the  setting  of  these  two  pages.  The  lines 
of  Q2  contain  from  nine  to  twelve  words,  and  therefore  the  differ- 
ence in  number  of  words  between  the  omitted  passage  of  Qi  and  the 
added  passage  of  £)2  could  readily  have  been  contained  in  the  blank 
space  exhibited  by  Qz. 

We  may  thus  infer  that  Aspley  had  already  finished  the  printing 
of  East-ward  Hoe  and  sold  some  copies  in  its  early,  complete  form 
when  the  order  came  to  suppress  the  libellous  passage.  This  Aspley 
accomplished  by  resetting  and  reprinting  the  two  pages  of  j^i  which 
contained  the  objectionable  words,  and  by  making  up  the  rest  of  the 
new  issue  with  the  unsold  parts  of  the  old.  The  scandal  of  the  libel 
and  the  imprisonment  of  the  two  authors  quickly  exhausted  Qz  ; 
and  to  take  advantage  of  this  fortuitous  and  momentary  interest  in 
his  book,  Aspley  hurriedly  set  the  play  again  in  Q3,  economising 
space  to  expedite  publication  and  to  increase  his  profits.  There  are 
thus  really  but  two  editions  of  East-ward  Hoe  ;  Ql  and  Qz,  consti- 
tuting the  e ditto  princeps  ;   J) 3,  the  second. 

The  courtesy  of  Mr.    Beverley  Chew  and  Mr.  W.  A.  White, 


j£otf$  147 

both  of  New  York  and  owners  respectively  of  a  Qz  and  a  Qj  of 
Eastward  Hoe,  has  enabled  the  present  editor  to  work  with  both 
editions  before  him.  Mr.  Chew's  copy  of  Qz,  employed  for  this 
edition,  exhibits  a  misplacement  of  two  leaves  (E  3  and  E  4).  They 
precede  instead  of  following  E  I  and  E  2.  The  copy  of  this  quarto 
in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford  shows,  according  to  the  acting 
librarian,  Dr.  Madan,  fragments  of  the  old  E  3  and  E  4  following 
the  new  pages.  It  seems  unlikely  that  any  other  changes  were 
made  save  those  explained  above. 


Eastward  Hoe,  Westward  Hoe,  were  cries  of  the 
watermen  who  plied  on  the  Thames,  in  1605  the  main  thorough- 
fare to  different  parts  of  London. 

PrologUS.  Bullen  attributes  this  prologue  to  Jonson  from  its 
"  tone  of  arrogant  assumption." 

4,  5.  Opposde  to  ours  in  title.  The  comedy  of  West- 
ward Hoe,  by  Webster  and  Dekker,  not  printed  until  1607. 

6,  23.  Heyday!  Ruffins  (/.  e.  ruffians')  Hall.  "West 
Smithfield  was  formerly  called  Ruffians'  Hall  where  ruffians  met 
casually  and  otherwise  to  try  masteries  with  sword  and  buckler.'* 
Ray's  Pro-verbs,  ed,  1678,  p.  328. 

6,30.  A  justice  of  peace  and  of  quorum  is  one  whose 
presence  is  necessary  to  constitute  a  bench.  The  phrase  is  derived 
from  the  words  of  the  Latin  commission  reading  quorum  unum 
A.  B.  esse  •volumus. 

6,  35.  I  am  intertaind  among  gallants,  true;  etc. 
Mr.  Bullen  compares  "the  turn  of  this  sentence"  with  a  pas- 
sage in  Marston's  Fawn.  Bullen's  Works  of  Marston,  1887,  II. 
181. 

8,  68.    The  devise  of  the  home  .  .  .  the  buckall. 

In  Notes  and  Queries  (Series  VII.  vol.  IV.  323)  may  be  found 
the  description  of  a  painting  on  a  panel  belonging  to  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  representing  a  huge  horn,  the  curved  end  upward. 
Two  personages  are  engaged  in  thrusting  an  unfortunate  wretch  into 


148  il^otes; 

the  horn  at  the  big  end,  while  at  "  the  buckall  "  or  small  end  a 
head  and  arm  appear,  and  near  by  stands  a  previous  victim  in  ragged 
garments,  wringing  his  hands.  The  picture  is  inscribed  :  "  This 
home  embleme  here  doth  showe  of  suertishipp  what  harme  doth 
growe  :  "  and  the  whole  is  entitled  "  The  Sea  of  Trubble."  A 
later  correspondent  (same  Series,  VII.  376)  refers  this  picture  to 
the  present  passage. 

8,  91.  Crackling  bavins.  Literally  a  bavin  is  a  bundle 
of  brushwood  easily  ignited,  and  hence  used  for  lighting  fires.  It 
is  here  employed  of  the  upstart  Quicksilver  and  his  sudden  flash 
into  notoriety  ;  and  is  prophetic  of  the  brevity  of  his  career.  Cf. 
Shakespeare's  "rash  bavin  wits,"  /  Henry  I V,  III.  2.  61. 

9,  109.  Court-Cut  and  long  tayle.  Court-cut  is  equally 
a  garment  of  courtly  fashion  and  a  bob-tailed  or  curtail  dog,  so 
maimed  to  show  its  owner  a  person  qualified  under  the  forest  laws 
to  hunt.  Long  tayle  correspondingly  alludes  to  a  kind  of  garment 
and  to  the  contrasted  hunting  dog. 

10,  128.    Give  armes,   show  armorial  bearings. 

10,  134.  Let  the  welkin  roare,  scraps  of  the  rant  of  An- 
cient Pistol.      See  2  Henry  IV,  II.  4. 

11,  145.  Christ-church,  a  parish  of  London,  including  New- 
gate. Gingerbread  was  a  favorite  at  Bartholomew  Fair  held  in  the 
neighborhood. 

11,  156.  Who  calls  Jeronimo  ?  A  line  from  The  Spanish 
Tragedy,  II.  5.  4. 

12,  171.  Moore  fieldes,  a  favorite  haunt  of  sturdy  beggars 
and  highwaymen. 

13,  Bettrice  leading  a  monkey.     The  note  of  the  late 

Dr.  Nicholson  that  this  dumb  character,  introduced  here  only  in 
the  play,  was  intended  to  ridicule  "  Beatrice  (of  Much  Ado  About 
Nothing')  leading  apes  in  hell,  and  the  dumb  Hero's  Mother"  in 
the  same  play,  must  be  pronounced  fanciful.  See  Shakespeare's 
Centurie  of  Praise,  Neiv  Shakspere  Society's  Publications,  1879, 
p.   70. 

13,  9.  In  any  hand,  under  any  circumstances.  Cf.  All's 
Well  that  Ends  Well,  III.  6.  45  :  Let  him  fetch  off  his  drum 
in  any  hand. 

13,10.  Thus  whilst  shee  sleepes.     A  line  from  a  song 


jftotes;  149 

in  John   Dowland's  First  Book  of  Songs  or  Airs,  1 597,  beginning 
*'  Sleep,  wayward  thoughts  and  rest  you  with  my  love." 

14,  37.  Boe-bell  !  In  allusion  to  the  popular  definition  of  a 
cockney  as  one  born  within  hearing  of  the  bells  of  the  church  of 
St.  Mary  le  Bow  in  Cheapside. 

14,  44.  Ulisses  .  .  .  yoakt  cattes.  Mildred's  variation 
of  the  old  fable  is  pardonable.      Cf.  Hyginus,  Fabula  XCV. 

15,  61.  A  right  Scot.  Evidently  a  hit  at  the  aping  of 
Scotch  costume  and  manners  due  to  the  incoming  of  a  foreign  prince. 
A  Scotch  farthingale  is  mentioned  as  a  new  fashion  in  Westward 
Hoe,  I.  I. 

18,  150.  Chittizens,  an  affected  pronunciation  of  citizens. 
Cf.  Blurt,  Master  Constable,  1602,  III.  3. 

20,  178.  His  castle  on  his  backe.  Gallants  often  im- 
poverished their  estates  by  the  costliness  of  their  garments. 

20,  201.  'Wei  parted,  of  good  parts.  Bullen  remarks  that 
this  is  a  Jonsonian  expression,  and  refers  to  "  The  Characters  of  the 
Persons  ' '  prefixed  to  Every  Man  Out  of  his  Humour,  ' '  a  person 
well  parted." 

21,  214.  Tis  honest  times  expence,  etc.  It  is  worth 
the  expenditure  of  my  time  (an  honest  man's)  when  seeming  light- 
ness (a  grave  man's  making  a  match)  bears  a  moral  sense  (/.  e. 
contains  a  deeper  purpose  than  the  mere  bringing  together  of  two 
lovers). 

26,  106.  Holla,  ye  pampered  jades  of  Asia  !  Tam- 
burlaine's  extravagant  words  to  the  four  captive  kings  drawing  him 
in  his  chariot.  (Part  II,  IV.  4.)  The  later  dramatists  never 
wearied  in  their  ridicule  of  the  old  melodramas,  Tamburlaine  and 
The  Spanish  Tragedy. 

26,  1 10.  Showse  quot  the  caliver.  Perhaps  no  more  than 
bang  went  the  gun. 

27,  134.  Hast  thou  not  Hyren  here?   One  of  Pistol's 

favorite  quotations  ( 2  Henry  IV,  II.  4.  1 65),  supposed  to  be  from 
Peek's  lost  play,  The  Turkish  Mahomet  and  Hyren  the  Fair  Greek. 
27,  138.  Who  cries  on  murther  ?  Evidently  another 
reminiscence  of  The  Spanish  Tragedy.  Cf.  II.  5.  I  ;  and  see 
Jonson's  Poetaster,  III.  1,  where  nearly  the  same  words  are  employed, 
though  these  words  differ  from  the  text  as  we  have  it. 


150  jftotes 

28,  151.  Go  westward  ho,  t.  e.  westward  in  a  cart  to 
Tyburn,  the  place  of  execution.  Cf.  Greene's  The  Second  Part  of 
Conny-catching,  I  591,  Grosart's  JVorks  of  Greene,  X.   105. 

28,  160.  Rente,  flye  with  a  duck  in  thy  mouth. 
Cf.  the  proverbs  :  "  Throw  it  to  the  ducks,"  throw  it  away  ;  and 
"  To  make  ducks  and  drakes  of  a  thing,"  to  skim  it  carelessly  on 
the  surface  of  the  water  as  boys  do  stones.  See  Notes  and  Queries, 
Series  I.  V.  42  and  Series  VII.  I.  257. 

28,  164.  When  this  eternall  substance,  etc.  This 
and  the  next  two  quotations  are  the  opening  lines  of  The  Spanish 
Tragedy. 

31.  Actus  Secundus.  ScenaSecunda.  Bullen  marks 
a  third  scene  at  the  close  of  this  soliloquy  of  Security. 

32,  20.  K.  me,  K.  thee.  One  good  turn  deserves  an- 
other. K.  was  pronounced  Kay.  Ray's  Pro-verbs,  1 678,  p. 
163. 

32,  31.  A  scrappe  to  the  nette  of  villanie.  Virtue  is 
as  nothing  to  the  powerful  and  successful  wiles  of  villainy. 

32,  32.  They  that  use.  They  that  use  it  (virtue)  simplie 
(merely),  thrive  simply  (like  fools). 

32,  38.  Let  my  truncks  shoote.  Trunck  was  also  a 
term  for  a  pea-shooter. 

33,  41.  Via,  the  curtain  that  shadowed  Borgia. 
The  final  catastrophe  of  Mulleasses  the  Turke  (Act  V,  Scene  3), 
by  John  Mason  and  printed  in  1608,  takes  place  in  this  wise  :  Bor- 
gias  is  supposed  slain,  but  haunts  his  court  in  the  shape  of  a  ghost. 
He  enters,  followed  by  two  gentlemen,  to  Mulleasses,  who  discovers 
that  Borgias  is  not  an  apparition,  runs  at  him,  and  each  gives  the 
other  his  death  wound.  Doubtless  Borgias  entered  behind  a  thin 
curtain  or  glided  in  the  shadow  of  one,  and  hence  the  allusion. 

33,  46.  'When  Sampson,  etc.  A  parody  of  an  old  ballad, 
see  Chappell,  Popular  Music  of  the  Olden  Time,  1855—59,  P- 
241. 

34,  78.  Under  the  wide  hazzard.  The  hazzard  in 
tennis  is  the  court  into  which  the  ball  is  served  ;  to  strike  a  ball 
into  the  hazzard  is  to  win  a  point.  The  ship  is  here  likened  to  a 
tennis  ball  tossed  by  the  waves  and  driven  not  only  into  the  wide 
hazzard  i   e.,  into  the  open  sea,  but  under  its  surface. 


jpotes!  1 5  * 

34,  81.  Well,  Francke,  well :  the  seas,  etc.     This, 

and  the  next  speech  of  Syndefy,  are  unmistakably  in  Jonson's  mor- 
alizing vein.     Cf.  Discoveries,  ed.   1892,  pp.  20  and  46. 

35,  103.  A  prentise,  quoth  you  ?  You  say  that  a  pren- 
tice dare  enter,  can  make  way  against  "my  worshipfull  rascall," 
etc. ,  how  preposterous  ! 

42,  20.  Westward  to  hange  himself.  Cf.  above,  note 
p.  150. 

43,41.  Commoditie.  This  alludes  to  a  practice  among  the 
usurers  of  the  day  by  which  young  spendthrifts  were  compelled  to 
take  a  part  of  the  sum  advanced  in  goods  more  or  less  damaged, 
for  which  the  usurer  could  charge  what  he  pleased.  Cf.  The  Al- 
chemist, III.  4. 

43,  49.  Fortie  pound  in  rosted  beefe.     Bullen  refers 

to  Dekker's  Lanthorne  and  Candlelight,  1609  (Deiker's  Works, 
ed.  Grosart,  III.  231),  where  a  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  "this 
extraordinary  commodity"  is  mentioned. 

43>  57-  God's  me,  a  mincing  oath,  possibly  cut  down  from 
God's  my  life.     Cf.  /  Henry  IV,  II.   3.  96. 

44,  87.  Turne-spit  dog  bound  to  his  wheele.  Top- 
sel  mentions  a  dog,  "  in  kitchin  service  excellent,"  that  turns  the 
spit  by  treading  a  wheel  and  "  whom  the  popular  sort  hereupon  call 
turnspits."      History  of  Four-footed  Beasts,  1658,  p.   139. 

47,  170.  Draw  all  my  servants  in  my  bowe.  Bend 
them  all  to  my  will.  Cf.  Foxe,  Book  of  Martyrs,  ed.  1631,  III. 
12.  880-882. 

47,  172.  Read  on  a  booke.  See  Shakespearian  Gram- 
mar, §  180;  and  cf.  Hamlet,  III.   1.44. 

54.  Enter  Hamlet,  a  footeman,  in  haste.  {Hamlet 
had  been  on  the  stage  three  or  four  years  at  this  time,  and  was  the 
greatest  dramatic  success  of  its  day. )  This  scene  contains  several 
jocular  allusions  to  Shakespeare's  tragedy,  but  the  notion  of  Feis 
and  some  others  that  it  contains  a  malicious  attack  on  Shakespeare 
may  be  dismissed  as  unworthy  of  serious  consideration.  Ophelia 
calls  for  her  coach  (IV.  5.  71),  an  anachronism  to  which  Jonson 
alone  among  the  dramatists  of  his  day  would  have  given  a  moment's 
thought.  Mr.  Feis  discovers  in  Gertrude's  like  call  for  her  coach 
"the   most  shameless  indecency"   {Shakespeare  and  Montaigne, 


152  jpotes 

1884,  p.  197).  Hamlet  are  you  madde,  needs  no  gloss.  In  all  the 
haste  that  the  cold  meat  left  at  your  icedding  might  serve  to  furnish 
their  nuptiall  table  (57>  74»  below)  alludes  to  "the  funeral  baked 
meats"  that  "  coldly  furnished  forth  the  marriage  tables  "  of  Ham- 
let's mother  and  uncle  (Hamlet,  I.  2.  180)}  and,  besides,  one  of 
the  brides  in  each  case  was  named  Gertrude.  (See,  too,  a  further 
reference  to  Hamlet  in  Gertrude's  song  below,  58,  96.) 

54,  11.  Blew  COte,  the  blue  coat  was  the  livery  of  the 
serving-man. 

56,  50.  But  a  little  higher,  the  refrain  of  a  song  in  Cam- 
pion's A  Booke  of  Ay  res,  1601  ;   Bullen's  Campion,  p.   19. 

56,  55.  Gives  no  other  milke,  is  of  no  other  use. 

57,  74.  All  the  haste.  Cf.  Shakespearian  Grammar,  §  91  ; 
and  at  the  length,  North's  Plutarch,  1656,  p.   592. 

58,  96.  His  head  as  white,  a  variation  of  one  of  mad 
Ophelia's  snatches  of  song.      Hamlet,  IV.  5.  190. 

58.  Rosemary,  the  herb  of  remembrance,  used  at  weddings 
and  funerals. 

58,  105.  Mistresse  What  lacke  you.  From  the  fa- 
vorite cry,  What  lack  you,  of  London  shopkeepers  to  passers  by. 

60,  154.  Naturall,  the  sense  of  this  word,  meaning  a  fool, 
breaks  into  Touchstone's  thought  and  throws  him  back  upon  his 
favorite  catch  phrase. 

60,  161.  A  gentleman  I  doe  not  know,  etc.  Your 
worship  is  a  kind  of  gentleman  with  which  I  am  unacquainted, 
being  neither  a  gentleman  by  birth  nor  by  nature.  If  you  are  a 
person  that  I  have  ever  known  you  are  now  so  disguised  that  I  can- 
not recognize  you. 

60,  168.  Gallantry,  gallants,  young  bloods.  Cf.  Troilus  and 
Cressida,  III.  I.  149  :   All  the  gallantry  of  Troy. 

61,  183.  Now,  O  now,  I  must  depart,  a  misquotation 
of  a  popular  song  in  John  Dowland's  First  Book  of  Airs,  1597. 

65,  280.   To  my  best  nerve,  to  the  best  of  my  strength. 

66,  299.  Who  would  not  straine  ...  a  point-de- 
vice ?  Who  would  not  be  unneighborly  to  play  a  trick  so  ap- 
propriate ?  Security  first  puns  on  point  of  neighborhood  (/.  e.  his 
duty  as  a  neighbor)  and  point- devise,  and  then  makes  the  latter 
word  do  double  service  for  point  point-devise,  i.  c.  a  trick  just  the 


j^Otfflf  153 

thing.  Cf.  above  (line  284)  :  whome  would  you  Bring  out  this 
even  in  honest  neighbour-hood,  i.  e.  neighborliness. 

66,  301.  Famous  Draco.  By  order  of  the  queen  the  ship 
in  which  Sir  Francis  Drake  had  sailed  round  the  world  was  laid  up 
at  Deptford,  whither  many  sightseers  were  in  consequence  attracted. 
Mr.  Swinburne  notes  in  this  allusion  a  betrayal  of  Chapman's  hand. 

7°»  395-  Fetch  you  over  (to  the  tavern,  accompany  you). 
And  then  aside,  You  were  nere  so  fetcht  (gulled,  as  I  shall  fetch 
you). 

7I>  SI.  There  in  79.  The  earliest  colony  in  Virginia  was 
that  of  Sir  Richard  Grenville  in  1585;  Hakluyt,  Voyages,  ed. 
1600,  III.  254.  Professor  Edward  Channing  suggests  that  this 
allusion  refers  to  the  expedition  of  1587,  known  as  "the  lost 
colony,"  by  some  still  believed  to  have  found  refuge  with  the  In- 
dians of  the  southern  end  of  Pamlico  Sound. 

72,  32.  Their  dripping  pans  .  .  .  hoales  in  them. 
This  whole  passage  is  imitated  from  Sir  Thomas  More's  Utopia,  ed. 
1886,  p.  98  :  "  Of  golde  and  sylver  they  make  commonlv  chaum- 
ber  pottes  and  other  vesselles  ...  of  the  same  mettalles  they  make 
greate  chaines,  fetters  and  gieves  wherin  the[y]  tie  their  bond- 
men. .  .  .  They  gather  also  pearles  by  the  sea  side,  and  diamondes 
.    .    .   and  therwith  thei  deck  their  yonge  infauntes." 

72,  48.  Onely  a  few  industrious  Scots  .  .  .  prepos- 
terously mixt.  This  passage  occurs  only  in  a  few  copies,  per- 
haps all  that  remain  of  a  first  quarto  ordered  to  be  destroyed.  As 
to  the  relation  of  the  various  early  editions  of  this  play,  see  the  note, 
p.  145.  On  the  authors'  difficulties  in  consequence,  see  the  Intro- 
duction. 

74,  85.  With  cap  and  knee.  "These  cups  proceed 
either  in  order  or  out.  In  order  when  no  person  transgresseth  or 
drinkes  out  of  course,  but  the  cup  goes  round  according  to  the 
manner  of  setting  :  and  this  we  call  an  health  cup,  because  in  our 
wishing  or  confirming  any  ones  health  bare-headed  and  standing,  it 
is  performed  by  all  the  company."  The  Laiv  of  Drinking,  1 61 7, 
p.  9. 

74>  I0°-  O'  their  knees.  There  are  many  allusions  in  the 
plays  of  the  time  to  this  extravagant  Bacchanal  rite.  A  discon- 
solate lover  sings  {Oxford  Drollery,  1 67 1,  p.   124)  :  — 


154  il^OtCflf 

"  I  will  no  more  her  servant  be, 
The  wiser  I,  the  wiser  I, 
Nor  pledge  her  health  upon  my  knee,"  etc. 

We  are  told  in  Cynthia  s  Revels  (II.  I.),  that  the  character,  Anai- 
des,  who  is  supposed  to  represent  Marston,  "never  kneels  but  to 
pledge  healths." 

77,  179.  Blackewall,  a  place  of  shipping  and  docks  on  the 
Thames  below  Deptford. 

80,  6.  A  boate  !  a  boate  !  a  boate  !  a  full  hunderd 
markes  for  a  boate  !  Cf.  Richard  III,   V.  4.  7,  13  :  A 

horse  !   a  horse  !   my  kingdom  for  a  horse  ! 

81.  Cuckolds'    Haven  or   Cuckolds'   Point  was  a 

spot  on  the  Surrey  side  of  the  Thames  a  little  below  Rother- 
hithe  Church  and  near  to  the  present  Thames  Railway  Tunnel. 
The  place  was  formerly  distinguished  by  a  tall  pole  with  a  pair  of 
horns  at  the  top.  It  was  under  this  title  that  Eastward  Hoe  was 
revived  and  acted  in  1685.  The  comments  of  Slitgut  in  this  act 
are  evidently  made  from  the  balcony  at  the  back  of  the  stage, 
whence  —  to  imagination's  inward  eye  —  he  can  view  the  storm- 
tossed  Thames  from  London  Bridge,  rather  more  than  a  mile  by  the 
river  westward,  to  the  Isle  of  Dogs,  the  nearest  point  of  which  can- 
not be  less  than  the  same  distance  in  an  easterly  and  southeasterly 
direction. 

81,6.  In  honour  of  Saint  Luke.  A  horn-fair  was  held 
at  Charlton  on  St.  Luke's  day,  October  18,  traditionally  commem- 
orative of  an  exploit  of  King  John. 

84,  73.  S.  Kath'rins,  an  old  royal  hospital  near  to  the 
Tower,  used  as  a  reformatory  for  fallen  women  ;  as  appropriate  a 
place  for  the  landing  of  Winifred  as  is  the  Haven  for  her  husband, 
and  the  gallows  at  Wapping  for  Ouicksilver. 

84.  Enter  the  Drawer  in  the  Taverne,  i.  e.  the  Drawer 
who  was  in  the  Tavern  named  before. 

89,  201.  A  poore  knight  of  Windsore.  The  Military 
Knights  of  Windsor  lived  on  a  benefaction  for  retired  soldiers 
founded  in  1 349.  In  later  times  they  were  known  as  "alms 
knighrs  "  or  "  poor  knights,"  doubtless  from  the  insufficiency  of 
the  foundation  by  which  they  were  supported  ;  and  the  term  be- 


Jiotes;  155 

came  synonymous  with  pauper.  See  Notes  and  Queries,  Series  V. 
vol.  V.  209  and  252. 

89,  201.  He  a  Doggs,  a  low  marshy  tract  along  the 
Thames  on  the  London  side,  forming  a  peninsula  bounded  by  Lime 
House,  Greenwich,  and  Blackwall  reaches  of  the  river. 

89,  213.  I  ken  the  man  weel ;  etc.  Plainly  a  sneer  at 
King  James's  carpet  knights.  Bullen  suggests  that  "  as  he  spoke 
the  words  the  actor  mimick'd  James's  Scotch  accent." 

91,  25S.  Blanche  copper,  etc.  These  devices  of  Quick- 
silver to  live  by  his  wits  are  suggestive  of  that  lively  prentice's 
younger  and  abler  brother,  Face  of  The  Alchemist.  Surely  we  have 
here  the  hand  of  Jonson. 

91,  276.  Et  habebis  magisterium,  and  thou  will't 
have  the  philosopher's  stone.      See  Notes  to  the  Alchemist,  p.  380. 

94,  348.  No  marvaile,  then,  if  I  could  see   two 

miles  about  me,  a  jocular  attempt  to  account  for  the  change  of 
scene  from  the  place  of  "  the  shipwreck  "  to  the  neighborhood  of 
the  tavern  at  Billingsgate  where  Security  meets  his  wife. 

95,  355-364.  Farewel  thou  home  .  .  .  stone  fruite. 

The  home  of  hunger  is  plainly  that  used  as  a  summons  to  meals  ; 
the  home  of  aboundance  or  plenty  becoming  to  the  richer  citizens 
or  headsmen  is  here  turned  also  to  a  sinister  meaning  j  the  home  of 
direction  is  the  sign-post,  with  a  pun  on  lant  (home),  land  (home)  ; 
the  huntsman's  home  of  pleasure  is  obvious  ;  as  is  the  home  of  des- 
tinie,  that  is,  the  cuckold's  horn.  Lastly  the  home  tree  is  the 
pole,  surmounted  with  a  pair  of  horns,  whence  Slitgut  has  just  de- 
scended. 

95,  6.  Cavallaria  .  .  .  Colonoria.  Latin  law  terms  sig- 
nifying the  landholding  of  a  knight  and  of  an  ordinary  colonist- 
derived  from  the  colonial  deeds  of  the  day. 

95,  10.    Monmouth  capps,  sailors'  caps. 

96,  28.  'Weeping  Crosse.  Nares  notes  three  places  of 
this  title.  To  return  by  Weeping  Crosse  is  obviously  to  repent  an 
undertaking. 

96,31.  Bite  o' the  bridle  for  William.  Probably  a  hos- 
tler's proverb  meaning,  these  horses  are  likely  to  get  little  feeding 
for  anything  that  I'll  do  for  them. 

97,  49,   Presentation  of  the  inquest,  as  we  would 


156  jftotes 

say,   report  of  the  nominating  committee.      Inquest  is  simply  in- 
quiry. 

98,  87.  Lady  Ramsey,  wife  of  a  lord  mayor  of  London  and 
benefactress  of  Christ's  Hospital  and  other  institutions  ;  she  died 
in  1596. 

98,  88.  Grave  Gresham,  Sir  Thomas  Gresham,  founder 
of  the  Royal  Exchange,  and  chief  financier  of  his  day,  lived  between 
1519  and  1579. 

99,  92.  Thy  deeds  plaid  i'  thy  life  time.  This  ac- 
tually happened  to  Sir  Thomas  Gresham  in  the  Latin  play  Byrsa 
Basilica,  1570.  The  allusions  of  the  text  are  to  Heywood's  play 
in  two  parts,  If  Tou  Know  Not  Me  You  Knoiv  Nobody,  1605, 
1606,  in  the  second  one  of  which  Gresham  and  Lady  Ramsey 
appear  as  characters. 

100,  126.  A  new  officer  o'  the  first  quarter,  in  the 
first  term  of  his  service. 

102,  173.  Mary,  fyste  o'  your  kindnesse.    On  this 

and  the  coarse  proverb  which  follows,  see  Cotgrave. 

102,  179.  Hunger  drops  out  at  his  nose.  A  vulgar 
proverb.  Cf.  Upon  English  Proverbes,  The  Scourge  of  Folly,  1 61 1, 
Grosart's  Works  of  "John  Da-vies  of  Hereford,  1878,  p.  42. 

104,  226.  Trust  up  at  Wapping,  where  pirates  were 
hanged. 

104,  230.  You  might  carry  an  M.  under  your  gir- 
dle.   You  might  have  the  civility  to  use  the  term,  Master. 

106,  281.  Gresco  (or  Cresco)  and  primero  were  both 
fashionable  gambling  games  at  cards.  As  to  both,  see  the  Glos- 
sary. 

106,  283.   Bright  piece  of  crimson,  gaily  clad  gallant. 

106,  284.  Changeable  trunks  of  apparel,  trunks  full 

of  changeable  apparel. 

111,  8.  O  hone,  hone,  etc.  An  Irish  refrain  or  burden  of 
lamentation. 

112,  37.  Knight  o'  the  Sunne,  a  hero  of  The  Mirror 
of  Knighthood,  published  in  seven  parts  between  I  583  and  1601  ; 
Palmerin  of  England,  Munday's  translation  of  Hurtado's  romance, 
was  first  published  about  1 581.  The  heroes  of  the  Morte  Dan  hut 
need  no  word  here. 


jpotes  157 

113,  71.  Lay  ...  in  lavender,  /.  e.  pawn. 

114,  96.  Fayries  now  adayes.  For  these  popular  super- 
stitions see  Bishop  Corbet's  The  Faeryes  Farewell,  Chalmer's  Eng- 
lish Poets,  V.  582. 

116,  153.  Abodie  would  thinke  you  were  the  older. 
Any  one  would  know  that  you  were  the  older,  and  hence  would 
have  expected  sound  advice  of  you. 

Il8,  183.  The  legge  of  a  larke,  translated  by  Howell 
among  English  Proverbs,  p.  7,  Lexicon  Tettraglotton,  1660. 

120,  42.  Famely  o'  Love,  a  religious  association  founded 
in  Holland  a  few  years  before  the  accession  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  the 
chief  tenet  of  which  appears  to  have  been  that  ' '  the  essence  of 
religion  consists  in  the  feelings  of  Divine  love,  and  that  all  other 
theological  tennets  .  .  .  are  of  no  importance."  This  sect  was 
attacked,  misunderstood,  and  abused  by  Middleton  in  his  comedy, 
The  Family  of  Love. 

121,54-61.   Knights  -  Ward,    Hole,    Two-penny 

Ward  are  the  names  of  different  parts  of  the  prison.  The  hu- 
mility of  the  penitents  causes  them  to  choose  inferior  lodgings  within 
the  prison  for  discipline's  sake.  From  his  rank  Sir  Petronel  might 
have  claimed  lodgment  "of  the  Master's  side."  Cf.  Westward 
Hoe,  III.  2.      See  Fenner's  Compter's  Commonwealth,  161  7. 

121,  72.  Sicke-Mans  Salve,  a  popular  book  of  devotion 
by  Thomas  Becon,  published  in  1 561. 

123.  The  Counter  or  Compter,  on  St.  Margaret's  Hill, 
Southwark,  was  the  prison  of  the  Borough  of  the  City  of  Lon- 
don in  which  debtors  and  those  guilty  of  mere  misdemeanors  were 
imprisoned.  Minsheu  explains  the  word:  "Because  whosoever 
slippeth  in  there  must  be  sure  to  account,  and  pay  well  too,  ere  he 
get  out  again."  The  Counter  was  situated  opposite  the  Tabard 
Inn,  and  was  destroyed  by  fire  in  1676. 

126,  65.  Eate  O*  the  basket,  containing  broken  victuals 
collected  for  the  poorer  prisoners. 

128,  126.  Away,  srah  !  evidently  addressed  to  Wolfs  as- 
sistant turnkey,  Holdfast,  who  lingers  after  conducting  Golding  to 
Wolf.  Bullen  supplies  here  instead  and  "at  a  venture,"  "  Exit 
Bramble." 

131,  42.   Voice  of  the  hyena.     The  hyena  was  supposed 


158  jliotetf 

to  be  able  to  counterfeit  a  man's  voice  to  lure  him  to  destruction. 
Topsell,  The  History  of  Four-footed  Beasts,  1 658,   p.   341. 

I34,  53.  Maningtons.  A  ivoeful  Ballad  made  by  Mr. 
George  Mannynton,  an  houre  before  he  suffered  at  Cambridge- 
casteil  was  entered  on  the  Stationers'  Register  Nov.  7.  1576.  See 
Ritson,  Ancient  Songs  and  Ballads,  ed.   1877,  p.   188. 

134,  57.  I  waile  in  woe.  The  first  line  of  Mannington's 
ballad.  Quicksilver's  song  is  a  satirical  take-off  of  the  "  neck 
verses"  actually  written  by  criminals,  or  for  them,  and  often  sung 
or  recited  by  them  on  their  way  to  Tyburn. 

J35>  72-  O  let  him  (Quicksilver)  alone,  don't  interrupt 
his  song.     Hee  (Touchstone)  is  taken  already. 

I35>  94-  The  black  oxe  trode  o'  my  foote,  a  pro- 
verbial expression,  meaning  trouble  came  upon  me. 

140,  216.  Wearing  of  yellow.  This  was  alike  the  color 
of  Security's  prison  dress  and  of  jealousy. 


LETTERS  OF  CHAPMAN  AND  JONSON  CON- 
CERNING EASTWARD  HOE 

The  following  letters  are  reprinted  from  the  Athenaum 
of  March  30,  1901.  They  were  communicated  to  that 
journal  by  Mr.  Bertram  Dobell,  who  took  them  from 
a  quarto  manuscript  commonplace  book  of  ninety  leaves 
into  which  they  had  been  copied  together  with  other  let- 
ters, petitions,  and  documents  dating  between  1580  and 
161  3.  All  are  written  in  the  old  court  hand.  Mr.  Do- 
bell is  of  opinion  that  "  the  writer  or  collector  of  the 
documents  can  have  been  no  other  than  George  Chap- 
man." The  manuscript  contains  ten  documents,  ap- 
parently relating  to  the  misfortunes  of  the  poets  in  the 


^Letters  of  Chapman  ana  31ott$on    159 

matter  of  Eastward  Hoe.  One  of  these  was  printed  by 
Gilford,  from  a  copy  among  the  Hatfield  Papers,  in  his 
Memoir  of  Ben  Jonson. l  Mr.  Dobell  reprints  six  others, 
three  of  them  Chapman's,  three  Jonson' s.  All  of  these 
are  reprinted  here. 

TO  HIS  MOST  GRATIOUS  MAJESTIE. 

Vouchsafe  most  Excellent  Soveraigne  to  take  mercifull  notice  of 
the  submissive  and  amendfull  sorrowes  of  your  two  most  humble 
and  prostrated  subjects  for  your  highnes  displeasure  :  Geo :  Chap- 
man and  Ben  Jhonson  ;  whose  chief  offences  are  but  two  clawses, 
and  both  of  them  not  our  owne  ;  much  less  the  unnaturall  issue 
of  our  offenceles  intents  :  I  hope  your  Majestie's  universall  know- 
ledge will  daigne  to  remember  :  That  all  Authoritie  in  execution  of 
Justice  especiallie  respects  the  manners  and  lives  of  men  commanded 
before  it ;  And  accordinge  to  their  generall  actions  censures  anythinge 
that  hath  scapt  them  in  perticular  ;  which  cannot  be  so  dispropor- 
tionate that  one  being  actuallie  good,  the  other  should  be  inten- 
tionallie  ill  ;  if  not  intentionallie  (howsoever  it  may  lie  subject  to 
construction)  where  the  whole  founte  of  our  actions  may  be  justi- 
fied from  beinge  in  this  kind  offensive  5  I  hope  the  integrall  partes 
will  taste  of  the  same  loyall  and  dutifull  order  :  which  to  aspire 
from  your  most  Cesar-like  Bountie  (who  conquered  still  to  spare 
the  conquered,  and  was  glad  of  offences  that  he  might  forgive).  In 
all  dijection  of  never-inough  itterated  sorrowe  for  your  high  dis- 
pleasure, and  vowe  of  as  much  future  delight  as  cf  your  present 
anger  ;  we  cast  our  best  parts  at  your  highnes  feete,  and  our  worst 
to  hell. 

George  Chapman. 

MOST  WORTHELY  HONORD. 

Of  all  the  oversights  for  which  I  suffer  none  repents  me  so  much 

as  that  our  unhappie  booke  was  presented  without  your  Lordshippes 

allowance,  for  which   we  can   plead   nothinge   by  way  of  pardon  : 

but  your  Person  so  farr  removed  from  our  requirde  attendance  j  our 

1  Cunningham's  yonson,  I.  cxvii. 


160    ^Letters  of  Cijapman  ano  ^jonsfon 

play  so  much  importun'de,  and  our  cleere  opinions,  that  nothinge 
it  contain'd  could  worthely  be  held  offensive  ;  and  had  your  good 
Lordshippe  vouchsafte  this  addition  of  grace  to  your  late  free  boun- 
ties, to  have  heard  our  reasons  for  our  well  wayd  Opinions  ;  And 
the  wordes  truly  related  on  which  both  they  and  our  enemies  Com- 
plaints were  grounded  j  I  make  no  question  but  your  Impartial 
Justice,  wolde  have  stoode  much  further  from  their  clamor  then 
from  our  acquittall ;  which  indifferent  favoure,  if  yet  your  no  less 
than  Princelye  respect  of  vertue  shall  please  to  bestowe  on  her  poore 
observant,  and  commaunde  my  Appearaunce  j  I  doubt  not  but  the 
Tempest  that  hath  dryven  me  into  this  wrackfull  harbor  will  cleere 
with  my  Innocence  ;  And  withall  the  most  sorrow  inflicting  wrath 
of  his  Excellent  Majestie  :  which  to  my  most  humble  and  zealous 
affection  is  so  much  the  more  stormye,  by  how  much  some  of  my 
obscured  laboures  have  striv'd  to  aspire  in  stead  therof  his  illustrate 
favoure  :  And  shall  not  be  the  least  honor  to  his  most  -Royall  ver- 
tues. 

To  the  most  worthy  and  honorable   Protector  of  vertue  :  The 
Lord  Chamberlain. 

George  Chapman. 


[TO  THE  LORD  CHAMBERLAIN.] 

Notwithstandinge  your  lordshipps  infinite  free  bountie  hath  par- 
don'd  and  grac't  when  it  might  justlie  have  punisht  5  and  remem- 
bered our  poore  reputations  when  our  acknowledged  dewties  to  your 
lordshippe  might  worthely  seeme  forgotten  ;  yet  since  true  honor  de- 
lightes  to  encrease  with  encrease  of  goodness  ;  &  that  our  liabilities 
and  healths  fainte  under  our  yrcksome  burthens  ;  we  are  with  all 
humilitie  enforc't  to  solicite  the  propagation  of  your  most  noble  fa- 
vours to  our  present  freedome  ;  And  the  rather  since  we  heare  from 
the  Lord  Dawbney,  that  his  highnes  hath  remitted  one  of  us  wholie 
to  your  Lo:  favoure  ;  And  that  the  other  had  still  youre  Lo:  pass- 
inge  noble  remembrance  for  his  jointe  libertie  ;  which  his  highnes 
selfe  would  not  be  displeas'd  to  allow  ;  And  thus  with  all  gratitude 
admyringe  youre  no  lesse  then  sacred  respect  to  the  poore  estate  of 
vertue,  never  were  our  soules  more  appropriate  to  the  powers  of  our 
lives,  then  our  utmost  lives  are  consecrate  to  your  noblest  service. 

George  Chapman. 


^Letters  of  Chapman  auo  iflonsoti    161 

MOST  HONORABLE  LORD  : 

Although  I  cannot  but  know  your  Lo  :  to  be  busied  with  far 
greater  and  higher  affaires  than  to  have  leysure  to  discend  sodainelye 
on  an  estate  so  low  and  remov'd  as  myne  ;  yet  since  the  cause  is 
in  us  wholie  mistaken  (at  least  misconstrued)  and  that  every  noble 
and  just  man  is  bound  to  defend  the  innocent,  I  doubt  not  but  to 
finde  your  Lordshipp  full  of  that  woonted  vertue  and  favoure  where- 
with you  have  ever  abounded  toward  the  truth.  And  though  the 
imprisonment  itselfe  can  not  but  grieve  mee  (in  respect  of  his  Ma- 
jesties high  displeasure,  from  whence  it  proceedes)  yet  the  manner 
of  it  afflicts  me  more  being  commytted  hether,  unexamyned,  nay 
unheard  (a  Rite  not  commonlie  denyed  to  the  greatest  offenders) 
and  I  made  a  guiltie  man  longe  before  I  am  one,  or  ever  thought 
to  bee  :  God,  I  call  to  testimonye  what  my  thoughts  are,  and  ever 
have  bene  of  his  Majestie  5  &  so  may  I  thrive  when  he  comes  to 
be  my  Judge  &  my  Kinges  as  they  are  most  sincere  :  And  I  appeale 
to  posteritie  that  will  hereafter  read  and  judge  my  writings  (though 
now  neglected)  whether  it  be  possible  I  should  speak  of  his  Majestie 
as  I  have  done  without  the  affection  of  a  most  zealous  and  good 
subject.  It  hath  ever  bene  my  destinye  to  be  misreported  and  con- 
demn'd  on  first  tale  ;  but  I  hope  there  is  an  eare  left  for  mee,  and 
by  your  honor  I  hope  it,  who  have  alwaies  bene  frend  to  Justice  ;  a 
vertue  that  Crownes  youre  Nobilitie.  So  with  my  most  humble 
prayer  of  your  Pardon,  and  all  advanced  wishes  for  your  honor,  I 
begin  to  know  my  dutie,  which  is  to  forbeare  to  trouble  your  Lo: 
till  my  languishinge  estate  may  drawe  free  breath  from  your  Com- 
fortable worde. 

Ben  Johnson. 

MOST  NOBLE  EARLE  [OF  PEMBROKE]: 

Neither  am  I  or  my  cause  so  much  unknowne  to  your  Lord- 
shippe  as  it  should  drive  mee  to  seeke  a  second  meanes,  or  dispaire 
ot  this  to  your  favoure.  You  have  ever  been  free  and  noble  to  mee, 
and  I  doubt  not  the  same  proportion  of  your  Bounties,  if  I  can  but 
answere  it  with  preservation  of  my  vertue  and  innocence  ;  when  I 
faile  of  those  let  me  not  onlye  be  abandon'd  of  you,  but  of  men. 
The  Anger  of  the  Kinge  is  death  (saith  the  wise  man)  and  in 
truth  it  is  little  lesse  with  mee  and  my  frend,  for  it  hath  buried  us 


1 62    iletters  of  Chapman  ano  jonson 

quick.  And  though  we  know  it  onlie  the  propertie  of  men  guiltie, 
and  worthy  of  punishment  to  invoke  Mercye  5  yet  now  it  might 
relieve  us,  who  have  onlie  our  Fortunes  made  our  fault ;  and  are 
indeede  vexed  for  other  men's  licence.  Most  honor'd  Earle,  be 
hastie  to  our  succoure  ;  And  it  shall  be  our  care  and  studye  not 
to  have  you  repent  the  tymely  benefit  you  do  us  ;  which  we  will 
ever  gratefully  receive  and  multiplye  in  our  acknowledgment. 

Ben  Johnson. 

EXCELLENTEST   OF  LADIES,     [COUNTESS    OF  RUT- 
LAND ?] 

And  most  honord  of  the  Graces,  Muses,  and  mee ;  if  it  be  not 
a  sinne  to  prophane  your  free  hand  with  prison  polluted  paper,  I  wolde 
entreate  some  little  of  youre  ayde  to  the  defence  of  my  innocence 
which  is  as  cleare  as  this  leafe  was  (before  I  staind  it)  of  any  thinge 
halfe-worthye  of  this  violent  infliction ;  I  am  commytted  and  with 
mee  a  worthy  Friend,  one  Mr.  Chapman,  a  man,  I  can  not  say  how 
known  to  your  Ladishipp,  but  I  am  sure  knowne  to  mee  to  honor 
you  :  and  our  offence  a  Play,  so  mistaken,  so  misconstrued,  so  mis- 
applied, as  I  do  wonder  whether  their  Ignorance  or  Impudence  be 
most,  who  are  our  adversaries.  It  is  now  not  disputable  for  we  stand 
on  uneven  bases,  and  our  cause  so  unequally  carried,  as  we  are  with- 
out examininge,  without  hearinge,  or  without  any  proofe  but  ma- 
licious Rumor,  horried  to  bondage  and  fetters ;  The  cause  we 
understand  to  be  the  Kinges  indignation,  for  which  we  are  hartelye 
sorie,  and  the  more  by  how  much  the  less  we  have  deserv'd  it. 
What  our  sute  is,  the  worthy  employde  Soliciter  and  equall  Adorer 
of  youre  vertues,  can  best  enforme  you. 

Ben  Jonson. 


For  comparison,  the  letter  of  Jonson  first  printed  by 
Gifford  is  added. 

MOST  TRULY  HONOURABLE, 

It  hath  still  been  the  tyranny  of  my  fortune  so  to  oppress  my  en- 
deavours that  before  I  can  shew  myself  grateful  in  the  least  for  former 
benefits,  I  am  enforced  to  provoke  your  bounties  for  more.      May 


iletters  of  Chapman  ana  Jlcmson    163 

it  not  seem  grievous  to  your  lordship,  that  now  my  innocence  calls 
upon  you  (next  the  deity)  to  her  defence.  God  himself  is  not 
averted  at  just  men's  cries  ;  and  you  that  approach  that  divine  good- 
ness  and  supply  it  here  on  earth  in  your  places  and  honours,  cannot 
employ  your  aid  more  worthily  than  to  the  common  succour  of 
honesty  and  virtue,  how  humbly  soever  it  be  placed. 

I  am  here,  my  most  honoured  lord,  unexamined  and  unheard, 
committed  to  a  vile  prison,  and  with  me  a  gentleman,  (whose 
name  may,  perhaps,  have  come  to  your  lordship)  one  Mr.  George 
Chapman,  a  learned  and  honest  man.  The  cause  ( would  I  could 
name  some  worthier,  though  I  wish  we  had  none  worthy  our  im- 
prisonment,)  is  (the  words  irk  me  that  our  fortune  hath  necessitated 
us  to  so  despised  a  course, )  a  play,  my  lord  ;  whereof  we  hope 
there  is  no  man  can  justly  complain  that  hath  the  virtue  to  think 
but  favourably  of  himself,  if  our  judge  bring  an  equal  ear  :  marry, 
if  with  prejudice  we  be  made  guilty  afore  our  time,  we  must  em- 
brace the  asinine  virtue,  patience.  My  noble  lord,  they  deal  not 
charitably  who  are  witty  in  another  man's  works,  and  utter  some- 
times their  own  malicious  meanings  under  our  words.  I  protest  to 
your  honour,  and  call  God  to  testimony,  (since  my  first  error1 
which,  yet,  is  punished  in  me  more  with  my  shame  than  it  was  then 
with  my  bondage, )  I  have  so  attempered  my  style,  that  I  have  given 
no  cause  to  any  good  man  of  grief;  and  if  to  any  ill,  by  touching  at 
any  general  vice,  it  hath  always  been  with  a  regard  and  sparing  of 
particular  persons.  I  may  be  otherwise  reported  ;  but  if  all  that 
be  accused  should  be  presently  guilty,  there  are  few  men  would 
stand  in  the  state  of  innocence. 

I  beseech  your  most  honourable  lordship,  suffer  not  other  men's 
errors  or  faults  past  to  be  made  my  crimes  ;  but  let  me  be  exam- 
ined both  by  all  my  works  past  and  this  present ;  and  not  trust  to 
rumour  but  my  books  (for  she  is  an  unjust  deliverer  both  of  great 
and  of  small  actions)  whether  I  have  ever  (many  things  I  have 
written  private  or  public)  given  offence  to  a  nation,  to  a  public 

1  "  Northampton  was  his  mortall  enemie  for  beating,  on  a  St. 
George's  day,  one  of  his  attenders.  He  was  called  before  the 
Councell  for  his  Sejanus  (1603,  acted),  and  accused  of  poperie 
and  treason  by  him."  Conversations  with  Drummond,  Shaks.  So. 
1842,  p.  22.      Perhaps  this  shows  what  error  is  meant. 


1 64    betters  of  Cljapman  anD  Jfloitfon 

order  or  state,  or  any  person  of  honour  or  authority  ;  but  have 
equally  laboured  to  keep  their  dignity  as  mine  own  person,  safe.  If 
others  have  transgressed,  let  me  not  be  entitled  to  their  follies.  But 
lest  in  being  too  diligent  for  my  excuse,  I  may  incur  the  suspicion 
of  being  guilty,  I  become  a  most  humble  suitor  to  your  lordship 
that  with  the  honourable  lord  Chamberlain,  (to  whom  I  have  in 
like  manner  petitioned )  you  will  be  pleased  to  be  the  grateful  means 
of  our  coming  to  answer ;  or  if  in  your  wisdoms  it  shall  be  thought 
necessary,  that  your  lordship  will  be  the  most  honoured  cause  of 
our  liberty,  where  freeing  us  from  one  prison  you  will  remove  us 
to  another  ;  which  is  eternally  to  bind  us  and  our  muses  to  the 
thankful  honouring  of  you  and  yours  to  posterity,  as  your  own 
virtues  have  by  many  descents  of  ancestors  ennobled  you  to  time. 
Your  honour's  most  devoted  in  heart  as  words, 

Ben  Jonson. 
To  the  most  worthy  virtuous  and  thrice  honour' d  earl  of  Salisbury. 
1605. 


tEfje  :3lcljnm0t 


TEXT    OF    THE    ALCHEMIST 

The  Alchemist  was  first  acted  in  the  year  1610  by  the  King's 
players,  the  company  of  Shakespeare  ;  and  gained  an  immediate 
success.  The  play  was  entered  in  the  Register  of  the  Stationers' 
Company  in  October  of  that  year,  but  was  not  published  until  1 6 1 2, 
when  it  appeared  in  quarto.  The  text  here  followed  is  that  of  the 
first  collective  edition  of  Jonson's  works,  the  folio  of  1 61 6,  which 
received  the  author's  careful  revision.  A  few  mistakes  of  the 
folio  have  been  corrected  by  reference  to  the  quarto  and  the  1 640 
folio.  Later  folios  add  nothing.  All  the  variants  between  the 
1 640  folio  and  Q,  save  those  of  mere  spelling,  have  been  noted. 
The  text  of  The  Alchemist  is  remarkably  free  from  difficulty  and 
error;  for  Jonson,  unlike  the  majority  of  his  contemporaries,  was 
careful  in  the  revision  of  his  proofs  and  consistent. -in  spelling, 
punctuationA  and  other  niceties  of  printing.  In  recognition  of 
all  this,  Jonson's  punctuation,  as  well  as  his  spelling  and  mark- 
ing of  intended  elisions,  has  been  preserved.  Jonson  punctuated 
highly,  marking  off  with  commas  every  break  in  the  rhetorical 
continuity  of  his  sentences,  and  especially  so  distinguishing  all 
adverbs  and  adverbial  clauses.  The  mark  of  interrogation  is  often 
employed  where  we  should  use  an  exclamation  point.  And  the 
parenthesis  generally  denotes  —  though  not  always  —  an  aside. 

The  return  of  this  edition  to  the  original  text  has  involved  not 
only  the  restoration  of  these  things,  but  also  the  retention  of  Jonson's 
own  stage  directions  and  divisions  of  scene.  Giftord,  after  the  man- 
ner of  his  time,  tampered  not  a  little  with  the  old  versions,  chang- 
ing scene  where  no  change  was  originally  intended,  and  adding  many 
stage  directions,  some  of  which  make  for  clearness,  though  others 
are  unnecessary  or  misleading.  The  first  have  been  retained  in 
square  brackets ;  the  latter  have  been  relegated  to  the  Notes,  where 
the  curious  may  consult  them. 

By  the  return  in  this  text  to  Jonson's  own  arrangement  of  scene 
it  will  be  observed  that  The  Alchemist  is  restored  to  that  small  class  . 
of  English  plavs  in  which  unity  of  time  and  place  are  carefully  pre- 
served, The  time  of  action  is  obviously  continuous  and  no  t_  longer 
than  the  events  itapktcd  might  have  taken  in  actual  life.  The  scene 
is  Lovewit's  house  within  and  without. 


THE 

ALCHEMIST. 


nA    Comwdicj. 


Adled  in  the  yeere  1 6 1  o.    By  the 

Kings  M  A 1  E  S  T  I  E  s 
Seruants. 


The  Author  B.  I. 


L  VCR.ET. 


petere  i/tde  eoromm, 

Vndeprius  nulfi  -vtlnrint  tempera.  Mufe. 


London, 
Printed   by  William  Stansby 

M.     DC.    XVI. 


SOURCES    OF    THE    ALCHEMIST 

The  suggestion  of  a  house  misused  in  the  master's  absence, 
with  the  situation  resulting  from  his  unexpected  return,  Jonson 
found  in  the  Mostellaria  of  Plautus  ;  and  the  spirited  exposition  of 
The  Alchemist,  a  quarrel  between  two  scoundrels  in  which  the  truth 
concerning  both  unconsciously  comes  forth,  owes  much  to  the  not 
dissimilar  opening  scene  of  the  same  Latin  comedy.  Again,  a  par- 
allel has  been  noted  between  an  episode  of  the  Poenulus  of  the  same 
Roman  poet  and  Jonson's  amusing  scene  (IV.  3.  )  in  which  Surly 
is  introduced  in  the  disguise  of  a  Spanish  grandee  unable  to  speak 
English  ;  and  Face,  in  ignorance  of  the  Spanish  tongue,  comments 
on  the  grandee's  words.  A  fanciful  resemblance,  too,  has  been 
thought  to  subsist  between  Jonson's  three  "sharks"  and  certain 
alchemists,  alleged  adventurers,  who  exploited  their  magical  profes- 
sion at  the  court  of  "  that  impartial  patron  of  useful,  useless  and 
pernicious  arts,  Rudolph  II  "  of  Germany.  And  lastly,  the  de- 
struction of  the  elixir  in  The  Alchemist  (IV  5.)  has  been  thought 
reminiscent  of  The  Chanouns  Yemannes  Tale  in  Chaucer's  Canter- 
bury Tales.  Dryden's  notion  (see  his  prologue  to  Albumazar, 
Dryden's  Works,  ed.  Scott-Saintsbury,  1882-88,  X.  417),  that 
Jonson  modelled  The  Alchemist  on  the  academic  play,  Albumazar, 
is  refuted  by  the  fact  that  the  latter  was  first  acted  in  1614,  four 
years  after  The  Alchemist  had  become  well  known  to  the  stage. 


TO    THE    LADY,    MOST 

Deserving  her  Name 

AND  Bloud: 

Mary. 

La.  Wroth. 
Madame, 

In  the  age  of  sacrifices,  the  truth  of  religion  was  not  in  the 
greatnesse,  and  fat  of  the  offrings,  but  in  the  devotion,  and  zeale 
of  the  sacrificers  :  else,  what  could  a  handfull  of  gummes  have  done 
in  the  sight  of  a  hecatombe  ?  or,  how  might  I  appeare  at  this  altar, 
except  with  those  affections,  that  no  lesse  love  the  light  and  wit- 
nesse,  then  they  have  the  conscience  of  your  vertue  ?  If  what  I 
offer  beare  an  acceptable  odour,  and  hold  the  first  strength,  it  is 
your  value  of  it,  which  remembers,  where,  when,  and  to  whom  it 
was  kindled.  Otherwise,  as  the  times  are,  there  comes  rarely  forth 
that  thing,  so  full  of  authoritie  or  example,  but  by  assiduitie  and 
custome,  growes  lesse,  and  looses.  This,  yet,  safe  in  your  judge- 
ment (which  is  a  Sidneys)  is  forbidden  to  speake  more  ;  lest  it 
talke,  or  looke  like  one  of  the  ambitious  faces  of  the  time  :  who, 
the  more  they  paint,  are  the  lesse  themselves. 
Your  La  : 
true  honorer, 
Ben.  Jonson. 

Most  Deserving.  The  Quarto  reads :  most  aequall  with  vertue,  and 
her  blood  :    The  Grace  and  Glory  or'  women.      Mary,  etc. 

4  Or,  how  might  I.  After  hecatombe  Q  reads:  "Or  how,  yet,  might  a 
gratefull  minde  be  furnish'd  against  the  initiuitie  of  Fortune;  except, 
when  she  fail'd  it,  it  had  power  to  impart  it  selfe  ?  A  way  found  out, 
to  overcome  even  those,  whom  Fortune  hath  enabled  to  returne  most, 
since  they,  yet  leave  themselves  more.  In  this  assurance  am  I  planted; 
and  stand  with  those  affections  at  this  Altar,  as  shall  no  more  avoide  the 
light  and  witnesse,  then  they  doe  the  conscience  of  your  vertue.  If  what 
I  offer,"  etc.  Jonson  may  have  omitted  this  passage  because  he  felt  that 
the  thought  interfered  with  the  sequence  of  his  metaphor. 

8  jour  value.    Q  your  valew,  that  remembers  etc. 

9  as  the  times  are.     Q  in  these  times. 

10  assiduitie.    Q  daylinesse.  II    This,  jet.    Q   But  this. 


[TO   THE    READER 

If  thou  beest  more,  thou  art  an  understander,  and  then 
I  trust  thee.  If  thou  art  one  that  tak'  st  up,  and  but  a 
pretender,  beware  at  what  hands  thou  receiv'st  thy  com- 
moditie  ;  for  thou  wert  never  more  fair  in  the  way  to  be 
cos'ned  then  in  this  age,  in  poetry,  especially  in  playes  :  5 
wherein,  now,  the  concupiscence  of  jigges,  and  daunces 
so  raigneth,  as  to  runne  away  from  nature,  and  be  afraid 
of  her,  is  the  onely  point  of  art  that  tickles  the  spectators. 
But  how  out  of  purpose,  and  place,  doe  I  name  art  ? 
when  the  professors  are  growne  so  obstinate  contemners  10 
of  it,  and  presumers  on  their  owne  naturalls,  as  they  are 
deriders  of  all  diligence  that  way,  and,  by  simple  mock- 
ing at  the  termes,  when  they  understand  not  the  things, 
thinke  to  get  of  wittily  with  their  ignorance.  Nay,  they 
are  esteem1  d  the  more  learned,  and  sufficient  for  this,  by  15 
the  multitude,  through  their  excellent  vice  of  judgement. 
For  they  commend  writers,  as  they  doe  fencers,  or  wras- 
tlers  ;  who  if  they  come  in  robustuously,  and  put  for  it 
with  a  great  deale  of  violence,  are  receiv'd  for  the  braver 
fellowes  :  when  many  times  their  owne  rudenesse  is  the  20 
cause  of  their  disgrace,  and  a  little  touch  of  their  adver- 
sary gives  all  that  boisterous  force  the  foyle.  I  deny 
not,  but  that  these  men,  who  alwaies  seeke  to  doe  more 
then  inough,  may  some  time  happen  on  some  thing  that  is 

[7c  the  Reader.     Printed  only  in  the  Quarto. 
6  jigges,   and   daunces.      Some  copies  read   Daunces  and   An- 
tikes.    (Hathaway.)  16  multitude.    Some  copies  read  many.   [Ibid.) 


tEo  t\)t  UcaDcr  171 

good,  and  great  ;  but  very  seldome  :  and  when  it  comes   25 
it   doth  not   recompence  the  rest  of  their  ill.      It  sticks 
out  perhaps,  and  is  more  eminent,  because  all  is  sordide, 
and  vile  about  it  :  as  lights  are  more  discern' d  in  a  thick 
darknesse,  then  a  faint  shadow.      I  speake  not  this,  out 
of  hope  to  doe  good  on  any  man,  against  his  will  5  for  I    30 
know,  if  it  were  put  to  the  question  of  theirs,  and  mine, 
the  worse  would  finde  more  suffrages  :   because  the  most 
favour  common  errors.      But  I  give  thee  this  warning, 
that  there  is  a  great  difference  betweene  those,  that  (to 
gain  the  opinion  of  copie)  utter  all   they  can,  how  ever   35 
unfitly;  and  those  that  use  election,  and  a  meane.      For 
it  is  onely  the  disease  of  the  unskilfull,  to  thinke  rude 
things  greater  then  polish' d  :  or  scatter' d  more  numerous 
then  compos' d.] 


[TO  MY  FRIEND  Mr.     BEN  JONSON.      UPON   HIS 
ALCHEMIST. 

A  master,  read  in  flatteries  great  skill, 

Could  not  passe  truth,  though  he  would  force  his  will, 

By  praising  this  too  much,  to  get  more  praise 

In  his  art,  then  you  out  of  yours  doe  raise. 

Nor  can  full  truth  be  uttered  of  your  worth, 

Unlesse  you  your  owne  praises  doe  set  forth  : 

None  else  can  write  so  skilfully,  to  shew 

Your  praise  :   ages  shall  pay,  yet  still  must  owe. 

All  I  dare  say,  is,  you  have  written  well, 

In  what  exceeding  height,  I  dare  not  tell. 

George  Lucy.] 

To  my  friend.    Printed  in  the  Q  ;  and  in  F2  with  the  collected  en- 
comia preceding  the  plays. 


THE    PERSONS    OF   THE    PLAY 

Subtle,  the  Alchemist.         Epicure       Mammon,       a 

Face,  the  house-keeper.  knight. 

Dol  Common,  their  col-    Surley,  a  gamster. 

league.  Tribulation,  a  pastor  of 

Dapper,  a  clarke.  Amsterdam. 

D rugger,  a  tobacco-man.     Ananias,  a  deacon  there. 
Love-wit,   master   of  the    Kastrill,  the  angry  boy. 
house.  Da[me]  Pliant,  his  sister: 

a  widdow. 
Neighbours. 
Officers. 
Mutes. 


The  Scene 

LONDON 


Play.    Q  Comodie. 

The  Scene  London,  omitted  in  £). 


THE   ARGUMENT 

T  he  sicknesse  hot,  a  master  quit,  for  feare, 
H  is  bouse  in  towne :   and  left  one  servant  there. 
E  ase  him  corrupted,  and  gave  meanes  to  know 
A  cheater,  and  his  punque ;  who,  now  brought  low, 
L  eaving  their  narrow  practise,  were  become 
C  os'ners  at  large  :   and,  onely  wanting  some 
H  ouse  to  set  up,  with  him  they  here  contract, 
E  ach  for  a  share,  and  all  begin  to  act. 
M  uch  company  they  draw,  and  much  abuse, 
I    n  casting  figures,  telling  fortunes,  newes, 
S    elling  of f yes,  fat  bawdry,  with  the  stone : 
T  ill  it,  and  they,  and  all  in  fume  are  gone. 


PROLOGUE 

Fortune,  that  favours  fooles,  these  two  short  houres 

IVe  wish  away  ;  both  for  your  sakes,  and  ours, 
fudging  Spectators  :   and  desire  in  place, 

To  th'  author  justice,  to  our  selves  but  grace. 
Our  scene  is  London,  'cause  we  would  make  knowne,     5 

No  countries  mirth  is  better  then  our  owne. 
No  clime  breeds  better  matter,  for  your  whore, 

Bawd,  squire,  impostor,  many  persons  more, 
Whose  manners,  now  caWd  humors,  feed  the  stage  : 

And  which  have  still  beene  subject,  for  the  rage   10 
Or  spleene  of  comick-writers.      Though  this  pen 

Did  never  aime  to  grieve,  but  better  men ; 
How  e'er  the  age,  he  lives  in,  doth  endure 

The  vices  that  shee  breeds,  above  their  cure. 
But  when  the  wholsome  remedies  are  sweet,  15 

And,  in  their  working,  gaine,  and  profit  meet, 
He  hopes  to  find  no  spirit  so  much  diseas'd 

But  will,  with  such  faire  correctives  be  pleas' d. 
For  here,  he  doth  not  feare,  who  can  apply. 

If  there  be  any,  that  will  sit  so  nigh  zo 

Unto  the  streame,  to  looke  what  it  doth  run, 

They  shall  find  things,  they' Id  thinke,  or  wish, 
were  done ; 
They  are  so  natur  all  follies,  but  so  showne, 

As  even  the  doers  may  see,  and  yet  not  owne. 

Prologue.     Q  The  Prologue.  10  for.  Q  to. 


C^c  aici)cmtet 


Act  I.     Scene  I. 

\A  Room  in  Love-wit's  House. 

Enter]  Face,  \in  a  captain's  uniform]  Subtle, 
\xvith  a  vial,  quarrelling,  and  followed  by] 
Dol  Common. 

[Face.]     Beleev  't,  I  will. 

Subtle.    Thy  worst.      I  fart  at  thee. 

Dol.    Ha'  you  your  wits  ?      Why  gentlemen  ! 

for  love 

Fac.    Sirrah,  I'll  strip  you- 


Sub.    What  to  doe  ?      Lick  figs 
Out  at  my 

Fac.    Rogue,  rogue,  out  of  all  your  sleights. 

Dol.    Nay,  looke  yee  !  soveraigne,  generall,  are 
you  mad-men  ? 

Sub.    O,  let  the  wild  sheepe  loose.     Uegumme 
your  silkes 
With  good  strong  water,  an'  you  come. 

Dol.    Will  you  have 
The  neighbours  heare  you  ?   will  you  betray  all  ? 
Harke,  I  heare  some  body. 


176  t£t)e  #lctinm$t  [acti. 

Fac.    Sirrah 


Sub.    I  shall  marre 
All  that  the  taylor  has  made,  if  you  approch.        10 

Fac.    You  most  notorious  whelpe,  you  inso- 
lent slave. 
Dare  you  doe  this  ? 

Sub.    Yes  faith,  yes  faith. 

Fac.    Why  !    who 
Am  I,  my  mungrill  ?      Who  am  I  ? 

Sub.    I'll  tell  you, 
Since  you  know  not  your  selfe 

Fac.    Speake  lower,  rogue. 

Sub.    Yes.     You  were  once  (time's  not  long 
past)  the  good,  i5 

Honest,  plaine,  livery-three-pound-thrum  ;  that 

kept 
Your  masters  worships  house,  here,  in  the  Friers, 
For  the  vacations 

Fac.    Will  you  be  so  lowd  ? 

Sub.    Since,  by  my  meanes,  translated  suburb- 
captayne. 

Fac.    By  your  meanes,  Doctor  dog ! 

Sub.    Within  mans  memorie,  20 

All  this,  I  speake  of. 

Fac.    Why,  I  pray  you,  have  I 
Beene  countenanc'd  by  you  ?   or  you,  by  me  ? 
Doe  but  collect,  sir,  where  I  met  you  first. 

Sub.    I  doe  not  heare  well. 


Scene  I]  Qtt)C  £lt\)tmigt  1JJ 

Fac.    Not  of  this,  I  thinlce  it. 
But  I  shall  put  you  in  mind,  sir,  at  Pie-corner,    25 
Taking  your  meale  of  steeme  in,  from   cookes 

stalls, 
Where,  like  the  father  of  hunger,  you  did  walke 
Piteously  costive,  with  your  pinch'd-horne-nose, 
And  your  complexion,  of  the  Romane  wash, 
Stuck  full  of  black,  and  melancholique  wormes,  30 
Like  poulder-cornes,  shot,  at  th'  Artillerie-yard. 
Sub.    I  wish  you  could  advance  your  voice,  a 

little. 
Fac.    When  you  went  pinn'd  up,  in  the  sev- 
eral! rags, 
Yo'  had  rak'd,  and  pick'd  from  dung-hills,  before 

day, 
Your  feet  in  mouldie  slippers,  for  your  kibes,       35 
A  felt  of  rugg,  and  a  thin  thredden  cloake, 

That  scarce  would  cover  your  no-buttocks 

Sub.   So,  sir ! 

Fac.  When  all  your  alchemy  and   your  al- 
gebra, 
Your  mineralls,  vegetalls,  and  animalls, 
Your   conjuring,  cosning,  and  your    dosen   of 

trades,  40 

Could   not    relieve   your  corps,  with   so  much 

linnen 
Would  make  you  tinder,  but  to  see  a  fire  ; 
1  ga'  you  count'nance,  credit  for  your  coales, 

25   Fi  and  F2  place  a  period  after  Pie-corner. 


178  tElje  #lcljemis;t  [acti. 

Your  stills,  your  glasses,  your  materialls, 
Built  you  a  fornace,  drew  you  customers,  45 

Advanc'd  all  your  black  arts ;  lent  you,  beside, 
A  house  to  practise  in 

Sub.  Your  masters  house  ? 

Fac.  Where  you  have  studied  the  more  thriv- 
ing skill 
Of  bawdrie,  since. 

Sub.  Yes,  in  your  masters  house. 
You,  and  the  rats,  here,  kept  possession.  50 

Make  it  not  strange.     I  know,  yo'  were  one, 

could  keepe 
The  buttry-hatch  still  lock'd,  and  save  the  chip- 
pings, 
Sell  the  dole-beere  to  aqua-vitae-men, 
The  which,  together   with   your   Christ-masse 

vailes, 
At  post  and  paire,  your  letting  out  of  counters,  55 
Made  you  a  pretty  stock,  some  twentie  markes, 
And  gave  you  credit  to  converse  with  cob-webs, 
Here,  since  your  mistris  death  hath  broke  up 
house. 

Fac.  You  might  talke  softlier,  raskall. 

Sub.   No,  you  scarabe, 
I'll  thunder  you,  in  peeces.      I  will  teach  you      6° 
How  to  beware,  to  tempt  a  Furie  againe 
That  carries  tempest  in  his  hand,  and  voice. 

Fac.  The  place  has  made  you  valiant. 


Scene  I.  ]  X^\)t  &\t\)t\Ui8t  1 79 

Sub.  No,  your  clothes. 

Thou  vermine,  have  I  tane  thee  out  of  dung, 

So  poore,  so  wretched,  when  no  living  thing        65 

Would  keepe  thee  companie,  but   a  spider,  or 
worse  ? 

Rais'd  thee  from  broomes,  and  dust,  and  watring 
pots  ? 

Sublim'd  thee,  and  exalted  thee,  and  fix'd  thee 

F  the  third  region,  call'd  our  state  of  grace  ? 

Wrought  thee  to  spirit,  to  quintessence,  with 

paines  7o 

Would  twise   have   won    me   the   philosophers 
worke  ? 

Put  thee  in  words,  and  fashion  ?  made  thee  fit 

For  more  then  ordinarie  fellowships  ? 

Giv'n   thee  thy   othes,  thy  quarrelling  dimen- 
sions ? 

Thy  rules,  to  cheat  at  horse-race,  cock-pit, cardes,  75 

Dice,  or  what  ever  gallant  tincture,  else  ? 

Made  thee  a  second,  in  mine  owne  great  art  ? 

And  have  I  this  for  thanke  ?    Doe  you  rebell  ? 

Doe  you  flie  out,i'  the  projection  ? 

Would  you  be  gone,  now  ? 

Dol.  Gentlemen,  what  meane  you  ?  80 

Will  you  marre  all  ? 

Sub.    Slave,  thou  hadst  had  no  name 

Dol.    Will  you  un-doe  your  selves,  with  civill 
warre  ? 

69  caWdour.    Q  the  high.  78   thanke.  F2  thanks. 


180  ®\)t  &\t\)tmi$t  [Act  I. 

Sub.  Never  beene  knowne,  past  equi  clibanum, 
The  heat  of  horse-dung,  under  ground,  in  cel- 
lars, 
Or   an    ale-house,   darker    then    deafe   John's : 

beene  lost  85 

To  all  mankind,  but  laundresses,  and  tapsters, 
Had  not  I  beene. 

Dol.  Do'  you  know  who  heares  you,  sover- 

aigne  ? 
Fac.   Sirrah 


Dol.  Nay,  generall,  I  thought  you  were  civill. 

Fac.   I    shall    turne    desperate,  if  you   grow 
thus  lowd. 

Sub.   And  hang  thy  selfe,  I  care  not. 

Fac.   Hang  thee,  colliar,  90 

And  all  thy  pots,  and  pans,  in  picture  I  will, 
Since  thou  hast  mov'd  me. 

Dol.  (O,  this'll  ore-throw  all.) 

Fac.  Write  thee  up  bawd,  in  Paules  ;    have 
all  thy  tricks 
Of  cosning  with  a  hollow  cole,  dust,  scrapings, 
Searching  for  things  lost,  with  a  sive,  and  sheeres,  95 
Erecting  figures,  in  your  rowes  of  houses, 
And  taking  in  of  shaddowes,  with  a  glasse, 
Told  in  red  letters  :   and  a  face,  cut  for  thee 
Worse  then  Gamaliel  Ratsey's. 

Dol.  Are  you  sound  ? 
Ha'  you  your  senses,  masters  ? 


Scene  I]  1&)t  3\t\)tmi*t  l8l 

Fac.   I  will  have  I00 

A  booke,  but  barely  reckoning  thy  impostures, 
Shall  prove  a  true  philosophers  stone,  to  printers. 

Sub.   Away,  you  trencher-raskall. 

Fac.   Out,  you  dog-leach, 
The  vomit  of  all  prisons 

Dol.  Will  you  be 
Your  owne  destructions,  gentlemen  ? 

Fac.   Still  spew'd  out  105 

For  lying  too  heavy  o'  the  basket. 

Sub.   Cheater. 

Fac.   Bawd. 

Sub.   Cow-herd. 

Fac.   Conjurer. 

Sub.   Cut-purse. 

Fac.   Witch. 

Dol.  O  me ! 
We  are  ruin'd  !   lost !    Ha'  you  no  more  regard 
To  your  reputations  ?   Where's  your  judgement  ? 

S'light, 
Have   yet,  some   care   of  me,  o'   your  repub- 

lique 1IO 

Fac.  Away  this  brach.    I'll  bring  thee,  rogue, 
within 
The  statute  of  sorcerie,  tricesimo  tertio 
Of  Harry  the  Eight :  I,  and  (perhaps)  thy  necke 
Within  a  nooze,  for  laundring  gold,  and  barb- 
ing it. 

1 12  Fi  period  after  tertio.  114  Q  omits  it. 


l82  1Kt)t  &U\)tmi$t  [Act  I. 

Dol.  You'll  bring  your  head  within  a  cocks- 
combe,  will  you  ?        She  catcheth  out  Face  his  sword: 

And  you,  sir,  with  your  menstrue,  and  Stakes 

•  •  Subt/es  p/asse. 

gather  it  up.  & 

S'death,  you  abominable  paire  of  stinkards, 
Leave  off  your  barking,  and  grow  one  againe, 
Or,  by  the  light  that  shines,  I'll  cut  your  throats. 
I'll  not  be  made  a  prey  unto  the  marshall,  no 

For  ne're  a  snarling  dog-bolt  o'  you  both. 
Ha'  you  together  cossen'd  all  this  while, 
And  all  the  world,  and  shall  it  now  be  said 
Yo'  have  made  most  courteous  shift,  to  cosen 

your  selves  ? 
You   will   accuse  him  ?     You  will  bring  him 

in  [To  Face.]  I2S 

Within    the    statute  ?     Who    shall    take    your 

word  ? 
A  whore-sonne,  upstart,  apocryphall  captayne, 
Whom  not  a  Puritane,  in  Black-friers,  will  trust 
So  much,  as  for  a  feather !    And  you,  too, 

[To  Subtle.] 
Will  give  the  cause,  forsooth  ?    You  will  insult,  130 
And  claime  a  primacie,  in  the  divisions  ? 
You  must  be  chiefe  ?  as  if  you,  onely,  had 
The  poulder  to  project  with  ?  and  the  worke 
Were  not  begun  out  of  equalitie  ? 
The  venter  tripartite?    All  things  in  common?  135 
Without  prioritie  ?  S'death,  you  perpetuall  curres, 

She  catcheth,  etc.    This  and  all  marginal  stage  directions  omitted  in  Q. 


Scene  I]  f&ty  &lt\)tmi&t  183 

Fall  to  your  couples  againe,  and  cossen  kindly, 

And  heartily,  and  lovingly,  as  you  should, 

And  loose  not  the  beginning  of  a  terme, 

Or,  by  this  hand,  I  shall  grow  factious  too,         140 

And,  take  my  part,  and  quit  you. 

Fac.  'Tis  his  fault, 
He  ever  murmures,  and  objects  his  paines, 
And  sayes,  the  weight  of  all  lyes  upon  him. 

Sub.  Why,  so  it  do's. 

Dol.   How  does  it  ?    Doe  not  we 
Sustaine  our  parts  ? 

Sub.  Yes,  but  they  are  not  equall.  145 

Dol.  Why,  if  your  part  exceed  to  day,  I  hope 
Ours  may,  to  morrow,  match  it. 

Sub.   I,  they  may. 

Dol.   May,  murmuring  mastiffe  !    I,  and  doe. 
Death  on  me  ! 
Helpe  me  to  thrattell  him. 

[Seizes  Subtle  by  the  throat.] 

Sub.    Dorothee,  Mistris  Dorothee, 
O'ds  precious,  I'll  doe  any  thing.  What  doe  you 

meane  ?  150 

Dol.  Because  o'  your  fermentation  and  ciba- 
tion  ? 

Sub.  Not  I,  by  heaven 

Dol.    Your  Sol,  and  Luna helpe  me. 

Sub.    Would  I  were  hang'd  then.    I'll   con- 
forme  my  selfe. 

148   Death  on  me  !  omitted  in  Q. 


184  W)t  &Ut)Cmi0t  [Act  I. 

Dol.    Will  you,  sir  ?  doe  so  then,  and  quickly  : 

sweare. 
Sub.    What  should  I  sweare  ? 
Dol.    To  leave  your  faction,  sir,  155 

And  labour,  kindly,  in  the  commune  worke. 
Sub.    Let  me  not  breath,  if  I   meant  ought, 
beside. 
I  onely  us'd  those  speeches,  as  a  spurre 
To  him. 

Dol.    I  hope  we  need  no  spurres,  sir.    Doe 

we  ? 
Fac.    'Slid,  prove  to  day,  who    shall   sharke 

best. 
Sub.    Agreed.  160 

Dol.    Yes,  and  worke  close,  and  friendly. 
Sub.    'Slight,  the  knot 
Shall  grow  the  stronger,  for  this  breach,  with  me. 

\They  shake  hands. ~\ 
Dol.    Why  so,  my  good  babounes  !     Shall  we 
goe  make 
A  sort  of  sober,  scirvy,  precise  neighbours, 
(That   scarce    have   smil'd    twise,  sin'   the  king 

came  in)  165 

A  feast  of  laughter,  at  our  follies  ?   raskalls, 
Would  runne  themselves    from    breath,  to  see 

me  ride, 
Or  you  t'  have  but  a  hole,  to  thrust  your  heads  in, 

157  Breath.    So  {,)  and  F.    F2  breathe. 


Scene  I. ]  {£1)0  ^Ul)fmt0t  1 85 

For  which  you  should  pay  eare-rent  ?     No,  agree. 
And  may  Don  Provost  ride  a  feasting,  long,        170 
In  his  old  velvet  jerken,  and  stayn'd  scarfes, 
(My  noble  soveraigne,  and  worthy  generall,) 
Ere  we  contribute  a  new  crewell  garter 
To  his  most  worsted  worship. 

Sub.    Roy  all  Dol ! 
Spoken  like  Claridiana,  and  thv  selfe.  17s 

Fac.    For  which,  at  supper,  thou  shalt  sit  in 
triumph, 
And  not  be  stil'd  Dol  Common,  but  Dol  Proper, 
Dol  Singular:   the  longest  cut,  at  night, 
Shall  draw  thee  for  his  Dol  Particular. 

\_Bell  rings  ivithout.~\ 
Sub.    Who's  that  ?     One  rings.    To  the  win- 
do',  Dol.    Pray  heav'n  180 
The  master  doe  not  trouble  us,  this  quarter. 
Fac.    O,   feare   not    him.    While  there  dyes 
one,  a  weeke, 
O'  the  plague,  hee's  safe,  from  thinking  toward 

London. 
Beside,  hee's  busie  at  his  hop-yards,  now  : 
I  had  a  letter  from  him.    If  he  doe,  ^5 

Hee'll  send  such  word,  for  avring  o'  the  house 
As  you  shall  have  sufficient  time,  to  quit  it : 
Though  we  breake  up  a  fortnight,  'tis  no  matter. 
[ZW  returns  from  the  window.! 
Sub.  Who  is  it,  Dol  ? 


1 86  tEtje  &lct)etm$t  [Acti. 

Dol.  A  fine  young  quodling. 

Fac.    O, 
My  lawyers  clarke,  I  lighted  on,  last  night,         I90 
In  Hol'bourne,  at  the  Dagger.    He  would  have 
(I  told  you  of  him)  a  familiar, 
To  rifle  with,  at  horses,  and  winne  cups. 

Dol.    O,  let  him  in. 

Sub.    Stay.    Who  shall  doo  't  ? 

Fac.    Get  you 
Your  robes  on.    I  will  meet  him,  as  going  out.  195 

Dol.    And  what  shall  I  doe  ? 

Fac.    Not  be  seene,  away.  [Exit  Dol.] 

Seeme  you  very  reserv'd. 

Sub.    Inough. 

Fac.     [Aloud  and  retiring.]  God  b'  w'  you,  sir, 
I  pray  you,  let  him  know  that  I  was  here. 
His   name    is    Dapper.      I    would  gladly   have 
staid,  but 


Act  I.     Scene  II. 

[Enter]  Dapper   [to]  Face    [and]    Subtle,   [who 
has  hastily  put  on  his  velvet  cap  and  gown.] 

[Dapper.]    Captaine,  I  am  here. 
Face.  Who's  that  ?   He's  come,  I  think,  Doc- 
tor. 
Good  faith,  sir,  I  was  going  away. 


Scene  II]  tTPtjC  HlCtjCttttfift  187 

Dap.    In  truth, 
F  am  very  sorry,  Captaine. 

Fac.    But  I  thought 
Sure,  I  should  meet  you. 

Dap.    I,  I'm  very  glad. 
F  had  a  scirvy  writ,  or  two,  to  make,  5 

And  I  had  lent  my  watch  last  night,  to  one 
That  dines,  to-day,  at  the  shrieffs  :  and  so  was 

rob'd 
Of  my  passe-time.    Is  this  the  cunning-man  ? 

Fac.    This  is  his  worship. 

Dap.    Is  he  a  doctor  ? 

Fac.    Yes. 

Dap.    And  ha'  you  broke  with  him,  Captain  ? 

Fac.    I. 

Dap.    And  how  ?  IO 

Fac.    Faith,  he  do's  make  the  matter,  sir,  so 
daintie, 
I  know  not  what  to  say 

Dap.    Not  so,  good  Captaine. 

Fac.    Would  I   were  fairely  rid  on't,  beleeve 
me. 

Dap.    Nay,  now  you  grieve  me,  sir.    Why 
should  you  wish  so  ? 
I  dare  assure  you.    I'll  not  be  ungratefull.  15 

Fac.    I  cannot  thinke  you  will,  sir.      But  the 
law 

3  r  am.     This  illustrates  Jonson's  marking  of  intended  elisions. 

4  /,  Pm.      Q  I'm,  etc. 


1 88  Wqz  glrtjemist  [acti. 

Is  such  a  thing — And  then,  he  sayes,  Reade's 

matter 
Falling  so  lately 

Dap.    Reade  ?    He  was  an  asse, 
And  dealt,  sir,  with  a  foole. 

Fac.    It  was  a  clarke,  sir. 

Dap.    A  clarke  ? 

Fac.    Nay,  heare  me,  sir,  you  know  the  law     20 
Better,  I  thinke 

Dap.    I  should,  sir,  and  the  danger. 
You  know  I  shew'd  the  statute  to  you  ? 

Fac.    You  did  so. 

Dap.    And  will  I  tell,  then  ?    By  this  hand, 
of  flesh, 
Would  it  might  never  wright  good  court-hand, 

more, 
If  I  discover.    What  doe  you  thinke  of  me,  25 

That  I  am  a  Chiause  ? 

Fac.    What's  that  ? 

Dap.    The  Turke  was,  here 

As  one  would  say,  doe  you  thinke  I  am  a  Turke  ? 

Fac.    I'll  tell  the  Doctor  so. 

Dap.    Doe,  good  sweet  Captaine. 

Fac.    Come,  noble  Doctor,  'pray  thee,  let's 
prevaile  ; 
This  is  the  gentleman,  and  he  is  no  Chiause.        30 

Subtle.    Captaine,  I  have  return'd  you  all  my 
answere. 


Scene  II.]  Wt)t  &lt\)tiniSt  189 

I  would  doe  much,  sir,  for  your  love — But  this 
I  neither  may,  nor  can. 

Fac.    Tut,  doe  not  say  so. 
You  deale,  now,  with  a  noble  fellow,  Doctor, 
One  that  will  thanke  you,  richly,  and  h'  is  no 

Chiause.  35 

Let  that,  sir,  move  you. 

Sub.    Pray  you,  forbeare 

Fac.    He  has 

Foure  angels,  here 

Sub.    You  doe  me  wrong,  good  sir. 

Fac.    Doctor,  wherein  ?    To  tempt  you,  with 

these  spirits  ? 
Sub.    To  tempt  my  art,  and  love,  sir,  to  my 
perill. 
'Fore  heav'n,  I   scarce  can  thinke  you   are  my 

friend,  40 

That  so  would  draw  me  to  apparant  danger. 
Fac.    I  draw  you  ?    A  horse  draw  you,  and  a 
halter, 

You,  and  your  flies  together 

Dap.    Nay,  good  Captayne. 
Fac.    That  know  no  difference  of  men. 
Sub.    Good  wordes,  sir. 

Fac.    Good    deeds,  sir,    Doctor    dogs-meate. 
'Slight,  I  bring  you  45 

No  cheating  Clim-o'-the-Cloughs,  or  Claribels, 

45  dogs-meate,  Q  dogges-mouth. 


S° 


190  Wfyt  3lt\)tmi8t  [Act  I. 

That   looke    as    bigge    as    five-and-fiftie,   and 

flush, 
And  spit  out  secrets,  like  hot  custard 

Dap.    Captayne. 

Fac.    Nor  any  melancholike  under-scribe, 
Shall  tell  the  Vicar :  but,  a  speciall  gentle, 
That  is  the  heire  to  fortie  markes,  a  yeere, 
Consorts  with  the  small  poets  of  the  time, 
Is  the  sole  hope  of  his  old  grand-mother, 
That  knowes  the  law,  and  writes  you  sixe  faire 

hands, 
Is  a  fine  clarke,  and  has  his  cyphring  perfect,       55 
Will  take  his  oath,  o'  the  Greeke  Xenophon, 
If  need  be,  in  his  pocket :  and  can  court 
His  mistris,  out  of  Ovid. 

Dap.    Nay,  deare  Captayne. 

Fac.    Did  you  not  tell  me  so  ? 

Dap.    Yes  ;   but  I'ld  ha'  you 
Use  Master  Doctor,  with  some  more  respect.      60 

Fac.    Hang  him,  proud  stagge,  with  his  broad 
velvet  head. 
But,  for  your   sake,  I'ld  choake,  ere  I   would 
change 

An  article  of  breath,  with  such  a  puck-fist 

Come,  let's  be  gone.  [Going.] 

Sub.    Pray  you,  le'  me  speake  with  you. 

Dap.    His  worship  calls  you,  Captayne. 

56  Xenophoti,  Q  Testament. 


Scene  II.  ]  X&ty  &U\)tmi$t  1 9  * 

Fac.    I  am  sorry,  65 

I    e'er    imbarqu'd    my    selfe,   in   such   a   busi- 
nesse. 

Dap.    Nay,  good  sir.     He  did  call  you. 

Fac.    Will  he  take,  then  ? 

Sub.    First,  heare  me 

Fac.    Not  a  syllable,  'lesse  you  take. 

Sub.    Pray  ye',  sir 

Fac.    Upon  no  termes,  but  an  assumpsit.   „     . 

Sub.    Your  humor  must  be  law.  the  money. 

Fac.    Why,  now,  sir,  talke.  70 

Now,   I    dare    heare    you    with   mine  honour. 

Speake. 
So  may  this  gentleman  too. 

Sub.    Why,  sir 

[Offering  to  whisper  Face.~\ 

Fac.    No  whispring. 

Sub.    'Fore  heav'n,  you  doe  not    apprehend 
the  losse 
You  doe  your  selfe,  in  this. 

Fac.   Wherein  ?   for  what  ? 

Sub.    Mary,  to  be  so'  importunate  for  one,        75 
That,  when  he  has  it,  will  un-doe  you  all : 
He'll  winne  up  all  the  money  i'  the  towne. 

Fac.    How  ! 

Sub.  Yes.    And  blow  up  gamster,  after  gam- 
ster, 
As  they  doe  crackers,  in  a  puppit-play. 


192  1&\\t  3\t\)tmi8t  [Act  I. 

If  I  doe  give  him  a  familiar,  80 

Give  you  him  all  you  play  for ;  never  set  him : 
For  he  will  have  it. 

Fac.    Y'  are  mistaken,  Doctor. 
Why,  he  do's  aske  one  but  for  cups,  and  horses, 
A  rifling  flye  :  none  o'  your  great  familiars. 

Dap.    Yes,  Captayne,  I  would  have  it,  for 
all  games.  85 

Sub.    I  told  you  so. 

Fac.    [Taking  Dapper  aside.~\    'Slight,  that's  a 
new  businesse  ! 
I  understood  you,  a  tame  bird,  to  flie 
Twise  in  a  terme,  or  so  ;  on  Friday-nights, 
When  you  had  left  the  office  :  for  a  nagge, 
Of  fortie,  or  flftie  shillings. 

Dap.   I,  'tis  true,  sir,  90 

But  I  doe  thinke,  now,  I  shall  leave  the  law, 
And  therefore 

Fac.   Why,  this  changes  quite  the  case  ! 
Do'  you  thinke,  that  I  dare  move  him  ? 

Dap.  If  you  please,  sir, 
All's  one  to  him,  I  see. 

Fac.  What !   for  that  money  ? 
I    cannot    with    my   conscience.      Nor   should 

you  95 

Make  the  request,  me  thinkes. 

Dap.   No,  sir,  I  meane 
To  adde  consideration. 


Scene  II.]  tEtjC  Q\t\)tmi$t  193 

Fac.  Why,  then,  sir, 
I'll  trie.     [Goes   to   Subtle.]     Say   that   it   were 
for  all  games,  Doctor  ? 
Sub.   I  say,  then,  not  a  mouth  shall  eate  for 
him 
At  any  ordinarie,  but  o'  the  score,  i00 

That  is  a  gaming  mouth,  conceive  me. 
Fac.   Indeed  ! 

Sub.   Hee'll  draw  you  all  the  treasure  of  the 
realme, 
If  it  be  set  him. 

Fac.  Speake  you  this  from  art  ? 
Sub.  I,  sir,  and  reason  too :   the   ground  of 
art. 
H'is  o'  the  onely  best  complexion,  105 

The  Queene  of  Fairy  loves. 
Fac.  What  !  is  he  ! 
Sub.  Peace. 
Hee'll  over-heare  you.    Sir,  should  shee  but  see 

him 

Fac.  What  ? 

Sub.   Do  not  you  tell  him. 
Fac.   Will  he  win  at  cards  too  ? 
Sub.  The    spirits    of    dead    Holland,    living 
Isaac, 
You'ld  sweare,  were  in  him  :    such  a  vigorous 

luck  no 

98  Say.    F  and  Q  misprint  Say,  that  it. 


194  ^Eije  &\t\)tmi&t  [acti. 

As  cannot  be  resisted.     'Slight  hee'll  put 
Sixe  o'  your  gallants,  to  a  cloke,  indeed. 

Fac.  A  strange  successe,  that  some  man  shall 
be  borne  too  ! 

Sub.   He  heares  you,  man 

Dap.   Sir,  He  not  be  ingratefull. 

Fac.   Faith,  I    have  confidence    in    his   good 

nature  :  115 

You   heare,    he  sayes   he  will   not   be    ingrate- 
full. 
Sub.   Why,  as  you  please,  my  venture  followes 

yours. 
Fac.  Troth,    doe    it,    Doctor.     Thinke  him 
trustie,  and  make  him. 
He  may  make  us  both  happy  in  an  houre  : 
Win   some  five  thousand   pound,  and  send  us 

two  on't.  120 

Dap.  Beleeve  it,  and  I  will,  sir. 
Fac.  And  you  shall,  sir.  ,ace  **.?. 

J  >  htm  aside. 

You  have  heard  all  ? 

Dap.  No,  what  was't  ?  nothing,  I  sir. 

Fac.   Nothing  ? 

Dap.  A  little,  sir. 

Fac.  Well,  a  rare  starre 
Raign'd  at  your  birth. 

Dap.   At  mine,  sir  ?    No. 

Fac.  The  Doctor 
Sweares  that  you  are 


Scene  II.]  Qfyt  SUfytltttet  195 

Sub.  Nay,  Captaine,  yo'll  tell  all,  now.  i*5 

Fac.  Allyed  to  the  Queene  of  Faerie. 

Dap.   Who  ?   that  I  am  ? 
Beleeve  it,  no  such  matter 

Fac.   Yes,  and  that 
Yo'  were  borne  with  a  caule  o'  your  head. 

Dap.  Who  saies  so  ? 

Fac.   Come, 
You   know   it  well    inough,   though    you    dis- 
semble it. 

Dap.  I-fac,  I  doe  not.    You  are  mistaken. 

Fac.   How  !  13° 

Sweare  by  your  fac  ?  and  in  a  thing  so  knowne 
Unto   the   Doctor  ?     How  shall  we,  sir,  trust 

you 
I'  the  other  matter  ?    Can  we  ever  thinke, 
When  you  have  wonne  five,  or  sixe  thousand 

pound, 
You'll  send  us  shares  in't,  by  this  rate  ? 

Dap.   By  Jove,  sir,  135 

I'll  winne  ten  thousand  pound,  and  send  you 

halfe. 
I-fac's  no  oath. 

Sub.  No,  no,  he  did  but  jest. 

Fac.   Goe   too.      Goe,  thanke    the    Doctor. 
He's  your  friend 
To  take  it  so. 

Dap.   I  thanke  his  worship. 

135  Jo-ve,  Q  Gad.  137  I-fac's,  Q  I  fac  is. 


196  tE^e  glctjemiat  [act  i. 

Fac.  So  ? 
Another  angell. 

Dap.  Must  I  ? 

Fac.  Must  you  ?    'Slight,  J4° 

What  else  is  thankes  ?     Will  you  be  triviall  ? 
Doctor,        \_Dapper  gives  him  the  money. ~\ 
When  must  he  come,  for  his  familiar  ? 

Dap.   Shall  I  not  ha'  it  with  me  ? 

Sub.   O,  good  sir  ! 
There  must  a  world  of  ceremonies  passe, 
You  must  be  bath'd  and  fumigated,  first ;  14.5 

Besides,  the  Queene  of  Faerie  do's  not  rise, 
Till  it  be  noone. 

Fac.   Not,  if  she  daunc'd,  to  night. 

Sub.    And  she  must  blesse  it. 

Fac.    Did  you  never  see 
Her  royall  grace,  yet  ? 

Dap.    Whom  ? 

Fac.    Your  aunt  of  Faerie  ? 

Sub.    Not,  since  she  kist  him,  in  the  cradle, 

Captayne,  I5o 

I  can  resolve  you  that. 

Fac.    Well,  see  her  grace, 
What  ere  it  cost  you,  for  a  thing  that  I  know! 
It  will  be  somewhat  hard  to  compasse  :   but, 
How  ever,  see  her.    You  are  made,  beleeve  it, 
If  you  can  see  her.  Her  grace  is  a  lone  woman,    155 
And  very  rich,  and  if  she  take  a  phant'sye, 


Scene  II]  ^e  Qit\)tmi&t  1 97 

She  will  doe  strange  things.     See  her,  at  any 

hand. 
'Slid,  she  may  hap  to  leave  you  all  she  has  ! 
It  is  the  Doctors  feare. 

Dap.    How  will't  be  done,  then  ? 
Fac.    Let    me   alone,   take   you  no  thought. 
Doe  you  160 

But  say  to  me,  Captayne,  I'll  see  her  grace. 
Dap.    Captain,  I'll  see  her  grace. 
Fac.    Inough. 

Sub.    Who's  there  ?  0ne  knocks  without. 

Anone.     \_Aside  to  Face.~\      (Conduct  him  forth 

by  the  back-way.) 
Sir,  against  one  a  clock,  prepare  your  selfe, 
Till  when  you  must  be  fasting;  onely  take         165 
Three  drops  of  vinegar,  in,  at  your  nose; 
Two  at  your  mouth ;  and  one,  at  either  eare ; 
Then,  bath  your  fingers  endes ;  and  wash  your 

eyes ; 
To  sharpen  your  five  senses  ;  and  cry,  hum, 
Thrise;  and  then  buz,  as  often  ;  and  then,  come.  17° 
Fac.    Can  you  remember  this  ? 
Dap.    I  warrant  you. 

Fac.    Well,  then,  away.      'Tis,  but  your  be- 
stowing 
Some  twenty  nobles, 'mong  her  graces  servants  ; 
And,  put  on  a  cleane  shirt :   You  doe  not  know 
What  grace  her  grace  may  doe  you  in  cleane 

linnen.  [Exeunt  Face  and  Dapper. ~]  175 


198  Qfyt  #lct)emt0t  [acti. 

Act  I.     Scene  III. 

Subtle,   \later~\   Drugger,   \and\    Face. 

\Subtle.~\  Come  in.    [Enter  Drugger. .]  (Good 
wives,  I  pray  you  forbeare  me,  now. 
Troth  I  can  doe  you  no  good,  till  after-noone.) 
What  is  your  name,  say  you,  Abel  Drugger  ? 
Drugger.    Yes,  sir. 
Sub.    A  seller  of  tabacco  ? 
Dru.    Yes,  sir. 
Sub.    'Umh. 
Free  of  the  Grocers  ? 

Dru.    I,  and't  please  you. 

Sub.    Well 

Your  businesse,  Abel  ? 

Dru.    This,  and't  please  your  worship, 
I'  am  a  yong  beginner,  and  am  building 
Of  a  new  shop,  and't  like  your  worship  ;  just, 
At  corner  of  a  street :  (Here's  the  plot  on't.) 
And  I   would  know,  by  art,  sir,  of  your  wor- 
ship, 
Which  way  I  should  make  my  dore,  by  necro- 

mancie. 
And,  where  my  shelves.    And  which  should  be 

for  boxes. 
And,  which  for  pots.    I  would  be  glad  to  thrive, 
sir. 

1  Good  ivi-vcs,  etc.    Qj)mits  in  most  cases  the  parentheses  of  Fi 
denoting  asides. 


Scene  III.]  ®\)t  gUfyemfct  199 

And,  I  was  wish'd  to  your  worship,  by  a  gen- 
tleman, 
One  Captaine  Face,  that  say's  you  know  mens 

planets,  15 

And  their  good  angels,  and  their  bad. 

Sub.    I  doe, 
If  I  doe  see  'hem 

[Re-enter  Face.l 

Face.    What !   my  honest  Abel  ? 
Thou  art  well  met,  here  ! 

Dru.    Troth,  sir,  I  was  speaking, 
Just,  as  your  worship  came  here,  of  your  wor- 
ship. 
I  pray  you,  speake  for  me  to  Master  Doctor.       20 

Fac.    He  shall  doe  any  thing.      Doctor,  doe 
you  heare  ? 
This  is  my  friend,  Abel,  an  honest  fellow, 
He  lets  me  have  good  tabacco,  and  he  do's  not 
Sophisticate  it,  with  sack-lees,  or  oyle, 
Nor  washes  it  in  muscadell,  and  graines,  .    25 

Nor  buries  it,  in  gravell,  under  ground, 
Wrap'd  up  in  greasie  leather,  or  piss'd  clouts  : 
But  keeps  it  in  fine  lilly-pots,  that  open'd, 
Smell  like  conserve  of  roses,  or  French  beanes. 
He  has  his  maple  block,  his  silver  tongs,  3° 

Winchester  pipes,  and  fire  of  juniper. 
A  neate,    spruce-honest-fellow,   and    no    gold- 
smith. 


200  X&\)t  &U1)tmi&t  [Act  I. 

Sub.    H'  is  a  fortunate  fellow,  that  I  am  sure 

on 

Fac.   Alreadie,  sir,  ha'  vou  found  it  ?    Lo'thee, 
Abel! 

Sub.    And,  in  right  way  to'ward  riches 

Fac.    Sir. 

Sub.    This  summer,  35 

He  will  be  of  the  clothing  of  his  companie: 
And,  next  spring,  call'd  to  the  scarlet.    Spend 
what  he  can. 
Fac.    What,  and  so  little  beard  ? 
Sub.    Sir,  you  must  thinke, 
He  may  have  a  receipt,  to  make  haire  come. 
But  hee'll  be  wise,  preserve  his  youth,  and  fine 

for't: 
His  fortune  lookes  for  him,  another  way. 

Fac.    'Slid,   Doctor,   how   canst   thou   know 
this  so  soone  ? 
V  am  amus'd,  at  that ! 

Sub.    By  a  rule,  Captaine, 
In  metaposcopie,  which  I  doe  worke  by, 
A  certaine  starre  i'  the  fore-head,  which  you  see 

not.  45 

Your  chest-nut,  or  your  olive-colour'd  face 
Do's    never    faile :    and    your  long   eare   doth 

promise. 
I  knew't,  by  certaine  spots  too,  in  his  teeth, 
And  on  the  naile  of  his  mercuriall  finger. 


40 


Scene  III.]  Qtf)t  #lct)emt0t  201 

Fac.  Which  finger's  that  ? 

Sub.   His  little  finger.    Looke.  50 

Yo'  were  borne  upon  a  Wensday  ? 
Dru.  Yes,  indeed,  sir. 

Sub.   The  thumbe,  in   chiromantie,  we  give 
Venus ; 
The  fore-finger  to  Jove  ;  the  midst,  to  Saturne  ; 
The  ring  to  Sol ;  the  least,  to  Mercurie  : 
Who  was  the  lord,  sir,  of  his  horoscope,  55 

His    house   of  life   being    Libra,    which   fore- 

shew'd, 
He  should  be  a  merchant,  and  should  trade  with 
ballance. 
Fac.  Why,  this  is  strange  !    Is't  not,  honest 

Nab? 
Sub.  There    is   a    ship  now,  comming  from 
Ormus, 
That  shall  yeeld  him,  such  a  commoditie  60 

Of  drugs — This  is  the  west,  and  this  the  south  ? 

[Pointing  to  the  plan.~\ 
Dru.  Yes,  sir. 

Sub.  And  those  are  your  two  sides  ? 
Dru.   I,  sir. 

Sub.   Make  me  your  dore,  then,  south;  your 
broad  side,  west : 
And,  on  the  east-side  of  your  shop,  aloft, 
Write  Mathlai,  Tarmiel,  and  Baraborat ;  65 

Upon  the  north-part,  Rael,  Velel,  Thiel. 


202  W$t  Qltfytmi&t  [Act  I. 

They  are  the  names  of  those  mercurial  spirits, 
That  doe  fright  flyes  from  boxes. 

Dru.  Yes,  sir. 

Sub.  And 
Beneath  your  threshold,  bury  me  a  load-stone 
To  draw  in  gallants,  that  weare  spurres  :  the 

rest,  70 

They'll  seeme  to  follow. 

Fac.  That's  a  secret,  Nab  ! 

Sub.  And,  on  your   stall,  a  puppet,  with  a 
vice, 
And  a  court-fucus,  to  call  city-dames. 
You  shall  deale  much,  with  mineralls. 

Dru.   Sir,  I  have, 
At  home,  alreadie 

Sub.  I,  I  know,  you  'have  arsnike,  75 

Vitriol,  sal-tartre,  argaile,  alkaly, 
Cinoper :   I  know  all.     This  fellow,  Captaine, 
Will  come,  in  time,  to  be  a  great  distiller, 
And  give  a  say  (I  will  not  say  directly, 
But  very  faire)  at  the  philosophers  stone.  80 

Fac.  Why,  how  now,  Abel !   is  this  true  ? 

Dru.   Good  Captaine, 
What  must  I  give  ?  [Aside  to  Face.~\ 

Fac.  Nay,  He  not  counsell  thee. 
Thou  hearst,what  wealth  (he  sayes,  spend  what 

thou  canst) 
Th'art  like  to  come  too. 

67  mercurial ',  J,)  mercurian. 


sczne  in.]         tEtje  &lcljemtet  203 

Dru.  I  would  gi'  him  a  crowne. 

Fac.  A  crowne  !  and  toward  such  a  fortune  ? 
Hart,  85 

Thou  shalt  rather  gi'  him  thy  shop.     No  gold 
about  thee  ? 

Dru.  Yes,  I  have  a  portague,  I  ha'  kept  this 
halfe  yeere. 

Fac.  Out  on  thee,  Nab ;  'slight,  there  was 

such  an  offer 

'Shalt  keepe't  no  longer,  I'll  gi'it  him  for  thee. 
Doctor,  Nab  prayes  your  worship,  to    drinke 

this  :   and  sweares  90 

He  will  appeare  more  gratefull,  as  your  skill 
Do's  raise  him  in  the  world. 

Dru.   I  would  intreat 
Another  favour  of  his  worship. 

•Fac.  What  is't,  Nab  ? 

Dru.   But,  to  looke  over,  sir,  my  almanack, 
And  crosse  out  my  ill-dayes,  that  I  may  neither  95 
Bargaine,  nor  trust  upon  them. 

Fac.   That  he  shall,  Nab. 
Leave  it,  it  shall  be  done,  'gainst  after-noone. 

Sub.   And  a  direction  for  his  shelves. 

Fac.  Now,  Nab  ? 
Art  thou  well  pleas'd,  Nab  ? 

Dru.  Thanke,  sir,  both  your  worships. 

Fac.  Away.  [Exit  Drugger.] 

85   And  toward,  F  'nd  toward. 


204  tE^e  #lct)emi0t  [act  i. 

Why,  now,  you  smoky  persecuter  of  nature  !     ioo 

Now,  doe   you  see,    that    some-thing's    to    be 
done, 

Beside    your    beech-coale    and    your    cor'sive 
waters, 

Your  crosse-lets,  crucibles,  and  cucurbites  ? 

You  must  have  stuffe,  brought  home  to  you,  to 
worke  on  ? 

And,  yet  you  thinke,  I  am  at  no  expence,  105 

In  searching   out  these    veines,  then   following 
'hem, 

Then  trying  'hem  out.     'Fore  God,  my  intelli- 
gence 

Costs  me  more  money,  then  my  share  oft  comes 
too, 

In  these  rare  workes. 

Sub.  You'  are  pleasant,  sir.    How  now  ? 

Act  I.     Scene  IV. 
Face,  [enter]  Dol  [to]   Subtle. 

[Subtle.]    What  say's,  my  daintie  Dolkin  ? 

Dol.  Yonder  fish-wife 
Will  not  away.    And  there's  your  giantesse, 
The  bawd  of  Lambeth. 

Sub.   Hart,  I  cannot  speake  with  'hem. 

Dol.  Not,  afore  night,  I  have  told  'hem,  in  a 
voice, 

107  God.  Fi  god,  and  so  throughout. 


scenziv.]         ^e  alchemist  205 

Thorough  the  trunke,  like  one  of  your  famil- 
iars. 5 

But  I  have  spied  Sir  Epicure  Mammon 

Sub.    Where? 

Dol.    Comming  along,  at  far  end  of  the  lane, 

Slow  of  his  feet,  but  earnest  of  his  tongue 

To  one,  that's  with  him. 

Sub.    Face,  goe  you,  and  shift.  [Exit  Face.~\ 

Dol,  you  must  presently  make  readie,  too 10 

Dol.    Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 
Sub.    O,  I  did  looke  for  him 

With   the    sunnes  rising :    'marvaile,  he   could 
sleepe  ! 

This  is  the  day,  I  am  to  perfect  for  him 

The  magisterium,  our  great  worke,  the  stone ; 

And  yeeld  it,  made,  into  his  hands  :   of  which,      15 

He    has,  this    month,  talk'd,  as  he  were   pos- 
sess'd. 

And,  now,  hee's  dealing  peeces  on't,  away. 

Me  thinkes,  I  see  him,  entring  ordinaries, 

Dispensing  for  the  poxe;  and  plaguy-houses, 

Reaching    his    dose ;    walking   More-fields    for 

lepers ;  20 

And    offring     citizens-wives     pomander-brace- 
lets, 

As  his  preservative,  made  of  the  elixir ; 

Searching    the     spittle,    to    make    old   bawdes 
yong; 

16  possess' d.      Q_  possess' d  on't. 


206  W§t  #lct)emi0t  [act  i. 

And  the  high-waies,  for  beggars,  to  make  rich  : 
I  see  no  end  of  his  labours.      He  will  make  25 

Nature    asham'd,    of   her    long    sleepe :    when 

art, 
Who's  but  a  step-dame,  shall  doe   more,  then 

shee, 
In  her  best  love  to  man-kind,  ever  could. 
If  his  dreame  last,  hee'll  turne  the  age,  to  gold. 

\Exeunt.~\ 


Act  II.     Scene  I. 
\_Enter~\   Mammon,  Surly. 

[Mammon.~\    Come  on,  sir.     Now,  you  set 

your  foot  on  shore 
In  Novo  Orbe ;  here's  the  rich  Peru  : 
And  there  within,  sir,  are  the  golden  mines, 
Great  Salomon's  Ophir  !    He  was  sayling  to't, 
Three    yeeres,  but   we  have   reach'd  it   in  ten 

months.  5 

This  is  the  day,  wherein,  to  all  my  friends, 
I  will  pronounce  the  happy  word,  be  rich. 
This  day,  you  shall  be  spectatissimi. 
You    shall    no    more    deale    with    the    hollow 

die, 
Or  the  fraile  card.    No  more  be  at  charge  of 

keeping  10 

The    livery-punke,    for    the    yong    heire,    that 

must 
Seale,  at  all  houres,  in  his  shirt.    No  more 
If  he  denie,  ha'  him  beaten  to't,  as  he  is 
That  brings  him  the  commoditie.    No  more 
Shall  thirst  of  satten,  or  the  covetous  hunger         15 
Of  velvet  entrailes,  for  a  rude-spun  cloke, 
To  be  displaid  at  Madame  Augusta's,  make 
The  sonnes  of  sword,  and  hazzard  fall  before 

1 1  the,  Qjny. 


208  tElje  &\t\)tmi8t  [act  ii. 

The  golden  calfe,  and  on   their  knees,  whole 

nights, 
Commit  idolatrie  with  wine,  and  trumpets  :  20 

Or  goe  a  feasting,  after  drum  and  ensigne. 
No  more  of  this.    You  shall  start  up  yong  vice- 

royes, 
And  have  your  punques  and  punquettees,  my 

Surly. 
And  unto  thee,  I  speake  it  first,  be  rich. 
Where  is  my  Subtle,  there  ?    Within  hough  ?       25 

[Face.']    {Within)    Sir. 
Hee'll  come  to  you,  by  and  by. 
Mam.    That's  his  fire-drake, 
His  lungs,  his  Zephyrus,he  that  puffes  his  coales, 
Till  he  firke  nature  up,  in  her  owne  center. 
You   are   not   faithfull,    sir.     This    night,    I'll 

change 
All,  that  is  mettall,  in  my  house,  to  gold.  30 

And,  early  in  the  morning,  will  I  send 
To  all  the  plumbers,  and  the  pewterers, 
And  buy  their  tin,  and  lead  up  :    and  to  Loth- 

bury, 
For  all  the  copper. 

Surly.    What,  and  turne  that  too  ? 

Mam.    Yes,  and    I'll    purchase    Devonshire, 

and  Cornwaile,  35 

And  make  them  perfect  Indies  !      You  admire 

now  ? 

30  my,  Fi  and  F2  thy. 


Scene  I.]  f&ty  0lct)emtSt  200, 

Sur.    No  faith. 

Mam.    But  when  you  see   th'effects  of  the 
great  med'cine  ! 
Of  which  one  part  projected  on  a  hundred 
Of  Mercuric,  or  Venus,  or  the  Moone, 
Shall  turne  it,  to  as  many  of  the  Sunne  j  40 

Nay,  to  a  thousand,  so  ad  infinitum  : 
You  will  beleeve  me. 

Sur.    Yes,  when  I  see't,  I  will. 
But,  if  my  eyes  do  cossen  me  so  (and  I 
Giving  'hem  no  occasion)  sure,  I'll  have 
A  whore,  shall  piss  'hem  out,  next  day. 

Mam.     Ha!    Why?  45 

Doe  you  thinke,  I  fable  with  you  ?    I  assure  you, 
He  that  has  once  the  flower  of  the  sunne 
The  perfect  ruby,  which  we  call  elixir, 
Not  onely  can  doe  that,  but  by  it's  vertue, 
Can  confer  honour,  love,  respect,  long  life,  50 

Give  safetie,  valure :   yea,  and  victorie, 
To  whom  he  will.    In  eight,  and  twentie  dayes, 
I'll  make  an  old  man,  of  fourescore,  a  childe. 

Sur.    No  doubt  hee's  that  alreadie. 

Mam.    Nay,  I  meane, 
Restore  his  yeeres,  renew  him,  like  an  eagle,         55 
To  the  fifth   age ;    make  him  get  sonnes,  and 

daughters, 
Yong  giants ;  as  our  philosophers  have  done, 

49    It's.      So  Q  and  F. 


210  tElje  2Lk\)tmi$t  [actii. 

(The  antient  patriarckes  afore  the  floud), 
But  taking,  once  a  weeke,  on  a  knives  point, 
The  quantitie  of  a  graine  of  mustard,  of  it :  60 

Become  stout  Marses,  and  beget  yong  Cupids. 

Sur.    The    decay'd    vestalls    of    Pickt-hatch 
would  thanke  you, 
That  keepe  the  fire  a-live,  there. 

Mam.    'Tis  the  secret 
Of  nature,  naturiz'd  'gainst  all  infections, 
Cures  all  diseases,  comming  of  all  causes,  65 

A  month's  griefe,  in  a  day  ;  a  yeeres,  in  twelve : 
And,  of  what  age  soever,  in  a  month. 
Past  all  the  doses,  of  your  drugging  doctors. 
I'll  undertake,  withall,  to  fright  the  plague 
Out  o'  the  kingdome,  in  three  months. 

Sur.    And  I'll  7° 

Be  bound,  the  players  shall  sing  your  praises, 

then, 
Without  their  poets. 

Mam.    Sir,  I'll  doo't.    Meane  time, 
I'll  give  away  so  much,  unto  my  man, 
Shall  serve  th'  whole  citie,  with  preservative, 
Weekely,    each    house    his     dose,    and    at    the 

rate 75 

Sur.    As  he  that  built  the  water-worke,  do's 
with  water  ? 

Mam.    You  are  incredulous. 

58  F  and  Qjjmit  the  comma.       62,  -vestal/s.    Qjind  Fi  vestall's. 


Scene  I]  Wt)t  fSLltfytttltet  211 

Sur.    Faith,  I  have  a  humor, 
I  would  not  willingly  be  gull'd.     Your  stone 
Cannot  transmute  me. 

Mam.    Pertinax,  Surly. 
Will  you  beleeve  antiquitie  ?   recordes  ?  80 

I'll  shew  you  a  booke,  where  Moses,  and  his 

sister, 
And  Salomon  have  written,  of  the  art ; 
I,  and  a  treatise  penn'd  by  Adam. 

Sur.    How  ! 

Mam.    O'    the    philosophers    stone,    and    in 
High-Dutch. 

Sur.    Did  Adam  write,  sir,  in  High-Dutch? 

Mam.    He  did  :  85 

Which  proves  it  was  the  primitive  tongue. 

Sur.    What  paper  ? 

Mam.    On  cedar  board. 

Sur.    O  that,  indeed  (they  say) 
Will  last  'gainst  wormes. 

Mam.  'Tis  like  your  Irish  wood, 
'Gainst  cob-webs.     I  have  a  piece  of  Jasons 

fleece,  too, 
Which  was  no  other,  then  a  booke  of  alchemie,  90 
Writ  in  large  sheepe-skin,a  good  fat  ram-vellam. 
Such  was  Pythagoras'  thigh,  Pandora's  tub  ; 
And,  all  that  fable  of  Medeas  charmes, 
The  manner  of  our  worke :  the  bulls,  our  for- 
nace, 

92  Pythagoras,  Q  and  F  Pythagora's. 


212  tB^C#lrt)ettttet  [Act  II. 

Still  breathing  fire  ;  our  argent-vive,  the  dragon  :   95 

The  dragons  teeth,  mercury  sublimate, 

That  keepes  the  whitenesse,  hardnesse,  and  the 

biting; 
And  they  are  gather'd,  into  Jason's  helme, 
(Th'  alembeke)  and  then  sow'd  in  Mars  his  field, 
And,  thence,  sublim'd   so    often,   till   they  are 

fix'd.  i00 

Both  this,  th'  Hesperian  garden,  Cadmus  storie, 
Jove's  shower,  the  boone  of  Midas,  Argus  eyes, 
Boccace  his  Demogorgon,  thousands  more, 
All  abstract  riddles  of  our  stone. 

[Enter  Face  as  a  Servant. ,] 
How  now  ? 

Act  II.     Scene  II. 

Mammon,  Face,  Surly. 

\_Mammon.~^    Doe  wee  succeed  ?    Is  our  day 

come?   and  hold's  it? 
Face.    The  evening  will  set  red,  upon  you, 
sir; 
You  have  colour  for  it,  crimson  :   the  red  fer- 
ment 
Has  done  his  office.    Three  houres  hence,  pre- 
pare you 
To  see  projection. 

Mam.    Pertinax,  my  Surly,  5 


Scene  II.  ]  tEl)C  &\t\)Cmi$t  2 1 3 

Againe,  I  say  to  thee,  aloud :   be  rich. 

This  day,  thou  shalt  have  ingots  :  and,  to  morrow, 

Give   lords   th'    affront.      Is    it,  my  Zephyrus, 

right  ? 
Blushes  the  bolts-head  ? 

Fac.    Like  a  wench  with  child,  sir, 
That  were,  but  now,  discover'd  to  her  master.      10 

Mam.    Excellent  wittie  Lungs  !      My  onely 
care  is, 
Where  to  get  stufFe,  inough  now,  to  project  on, 
This  towne  will  not  halfe  serve  me. 

Fac.    No,  sir  ?    Buy 
The  covering  of  o'  churches. 

Mam.    That's  true. 

Fac.    Yes. 
Let  'hem  stand  bare,  as  doe  their  auditorie.  15 

Or  cap  'hem,  new,  with  shingles. 

Mam.    No,  good  thatch  : 
Thatch  will  lie  light  upo'  the  rafters,  Lungs. 
Lungs,  I  will  manumit  thee,  from  the  fornace  ; 
I  will  restore  thee  thy  complexion,  Puffe, 
Lost  in  the  embers  ;   and  repaire  this  braine,         20 
Hurt  wi'  the  fume  o'  the  mettalls. 

Fac.    I  have  blowne,  sir, 
Hard,  for  your  worship  ;  throwne  by  many  a 

coale 
When  'twas  not  beech  ;  weigh'd  those  I  put  in, 
just, 

13  Buy,  g  Take.  21  wF,  Q  with. 


214  tEtye  &lt\)tmi&t  [Acni. 

To  keepe  your  heat,  still  even  ;  these  bleard- 

eyes 
Have   wak'd,   to   reade    your   severall    colours, 

sir,  25 

Of  the  pale  citron,  the  greene  lyon,  the  crow, 
The  peacocks  taile,  the  plumed  swan. 

Mam.    And,  lastly, 
Thou  hast  descryed  the  flower,  the  sanguis  agni? 

Fac.    Yes,  sir. 

Mam.   Where's  master  ? 

Fac.    At's  praiers,  sir,  he, 
Good  man,  hee's  doing  his  devotions,  30 

For  the  successe. 

Mam.    Lungs,  I  will  set  a  period, 
To  all  thy  labours  :   thou  shalt  be  the  master 
Of  my  seraglia. 

Fac.    Good,  sir. 

Mam.    But,  doe  you  heare  ? 
I'll  geld  you,  Lungs. 

Fac.    Yes,  sir. 

Mam.    For  I  doe  meane 
To  have  a  list  of  wives,  and  concubines,  35 

Equall  with  Salomon ;   who  had  the  stone 
Alike,  with  me  :   and  I  will  make  me,  a  back 
With  the  elixir,  that  shall  be  as  tough 
As  Hercules,  to  encounter  fiftie  a  night. 
Th'art  sure,  thou  saw'st  it  bloud  ? 

Fac.    Both  bloud,  and  spirit,  sir.  40 


Scene  II]  1B\)t  &U\)tX\Xi$t  21 5 

Mam.    I  will  have  all  my  beds,  blowne  up ; 

not  stuft : 
Downe    is    too    hard.     And    then,    mine    oval 

roome, 
Fill'd  with  such  pictures,  as  Tiberius  tooke 
From  Elephantis  :   and  dull  Aretine 
But  coldly  imitated.    Then,  my  glasses,  45 

Cut  in  more  subtill  angles,  to  disperse, 
And  multiply  the  figures,  as  I  walke 
Naked  betweene  my  succubce.    My  mists 
I'le  have  of  perfume,  vapor'd  'bout  the  roome, 
To  lose  our  selves  in  ;   and  my  baths,  like  pits      5° 
To  fall  into  :  from  whence,  we  will  come  forth, 
And  rowle  us  drie  in  gossamour,  and  roses. 
(Is  it  arrived  at  ruby  ?) — Where  I  spie 
A  wealthy  citizen,  or  rich  lawyer, 
Have  a  sublim'd  pure  wife,  unto  that  fellow         55 
I'll  send  a  thousand  pound,  to  be  my  cuckold. 
Fac.    And  I  shall  carry  it  ? 
Mam.    No.    I'll  ha'  no  bawds, 
But    fathers,   and   mothers.      They  will  doe   it 

best. 
Best  of  all  others.    And,  my  flatterers 
Shall  be  the  pure,  and  gravest  of  divines,  60 

That  I  can  get  for  money.    My  mere  fooles, 
Eloquent  burgesses,  and  then  my  poets 
The  same  that  writ  so  subtly  of  the  fart, 
Whom  I  will  entertaine,  still,  for  that  subject. 

58,  59  They  will  doe  .  .  others,  omitted  in  Q.  60 pure,  Q  best 


216  tElje  aictjemist  [act  ii. 

The  few,  that  would  give  out  themselves,  to  be  65 
Court,   and  towne-stallions,   and,  each   where, 

belye 
Ladies,  who   are   knowne   most    innocent,    for 

them  ; 
Those  will  I  begge,  to  make  me  eunuchs  of: 
And  they  shall  fan  me  with  ten  estrich  tailes 
A  piece,  made  in  a  plume,  to  gather  wind.  70 

We  will  be  brave,  Puffe,  now  we  ha'  the  med'- 

cine. 
My  meat,  shall  all  come  in,  in  Indian  shells, 
Dishes  of  agate,  set  in  gold,  and  studded, 
With  emeralds,  saphyres,  hiacynths,  and  rubies. 
The   tongues   of  carpes,   dormise,   and   camels 

heeles,  75 

Boil'd  i'  the  spirit  of  Sol,  and  dissolv'd  pearle, 
(Apicius  diet,  'gainst  the  epilepsie) 
And  I  will  eate  these  broaths,  with  spoones  of 

amber, 
Headed  with  diamant,  and  carbuncle. 
My  foot-boy   shall  eate  phesants,  calverd    sal- 
mons, 80 
Knots,  godwits,  lampreys  :   I  my  selfe  will  have 
The  beards  of  barbels,  serv'd,  in  stead  of  sallades  ; 
Oild   mushromes ;   and   the    swelling   unctuous 

paps 
Of  a  fat  pregnant  sow,  newly  cut  off, 
Drest  with  an  exquisite,  and  poynant  sauce ;         85 

81  lampreys,  Fl  and  F2  lamprey's. 


Scene  II.]  f&ty  ^IctjCmtSt  2 1 J 

For  which,  He  say  unto  my  cooke,  there's  gold, 
Goe  forth,  and  be  a  knight. 

Fac.    Sir,  I'll  goe  looke 
A  little,  how  it  heightens.  [iix/V.] 

Mam.    Doe.    My  shirts 
I'll  have  of  taffata-sarsnet,  soft,  and  light 
As  cob-webs;  and  for  all  my  other  rayment  90 

It  shall  be  such,  as  might  provoke  the  Persian  ; 
Were  he  to  teach  the  world  riot,  a  new. 
My  gloves  of  fishes,  and  birds-skins,  perfum'd 
With  gummes  of  paradise,  and  easterne  aire 

Surly.    And  do'  you  thinke  to  have  the  stone, 
with  this  ?  95 

Mam.   No,  I  doe  thinke,  t'  have  all  this,  with 
the  stone. 

Sur.    Why,  I  have  heard,  he   must  be  homo 
frugi, 
A  pious,  holy,  and  religious  man, 
One  free  from  mortall  sinne,  a  very  virgin. 

Mam.    That   makes  it,  sir,  he  is  so.    But   I 

buy  it.  100 

My  venter  brings  it  me.    He,  honest  wretch, 
A  notable,  superstitious,  good  soule, 
Has  worne  his  knees  bare,  and  his  slippers  bald, 
With   prayer,  and   fasting   for  it :    and,  sir,  let 

him 
Do'  it  alone,  for  me,  still.      Here  he  comes,        105 
Not  a  prophane  word,  afore  him  :   'tis  poyson. 


218  Ww  aictjetntet  [actii. 

Act  II.     Scene  III. 
Mammon,  Subtle  [enters],  Surly;   \_later~\  Face. 

[Mammon.]     Good  morrow,  father. 

Subtle.    Gentle  sonne,  good  morrow, 
And,  to  your  friend,  there.    What  is  he,  is  with 
you  ? 

Mam.    An  heretique,  that  I  did  bring  along, 
I  hope,  sir,  to  convert  him. 

Sub.    Sonne,  I  doubt 
Yo'  are  covetous,  that  thus  you  meet  your  time 
I'  the  just  point :  prevent  your  day,  at  morning. 
This  argues  something,  worthy  of  a  feare 
Of  importune,  and  carnall  appetite. 
Take  heed,  you  doe  not  cause  the  blessing  leave 

you, 
With  your  ungovern'd  hast.    I  should  be  sorry, 
To  see  my  labours,  now  e'ene  at  perfection, 
Got  by  long  watching,  and  large  patience, 
Not   prosper,  where  my  love,  and  zeale  hath 

plac'd  'hem. 
Which  (heaven  I  call  to  witnesse,with  yourselfe, 
To  whom,  I   have  pour'd  my  thoughts)  in  all 

my  ends, 
Have  look'd  no  way,  but  unto  publique  good, 
To  pious  uses,  and  deere  charitie, 
Now  growne  a  prodigie  with  men.    Wherein 

1 8  Now,  Fi  and  Q  No.     F2  corrects. 


*s 


Scene  III.]  &f)t  QUtytmitit  219 

If  you,  my  sonne,  should  now  prevaricate, 

And,  to  your  owne  particular  lusts,  employ  20 

So  great,  and  catholique  a  blisse  :   be  sure, 

A  curse  will  follow,  yea,  and  overtake 

Your  subtle,  and  most  secret  wayes. 

Mam.    I  know,  sir, 
You  shall  not  need  to  feare  me.     I  but  come, 
To  ha*  you  confute  this  gentleman. 

Surly.  Who  is,  25 

Indeed,  sir,  somewhat  caustive  of  beliefe 
Toward  your  stone  :   would  not  be  gull'd. 

Sub.  Well,  sonne, 
All  that  I  can  convince  him  in,  is  this, 
The  worke  is  done  :   bright  Sol  is  in  his  robe. 
We  have  a  med'cine  of  the  triple  soule,  30 

The  glorified  spirit.    Thankes  be  to  heaven, 
And  make  us  worthy  of  it.    lUcit  (Spiegel. 

Face    [within] .    Anone,  sir. 

Sub.    Looke  well  to  the  register, 
And  let  your  heat,  still,  lessen  by  degrees, 
To  the  aludels. 

Fac.    [within] .    Yes,  sir. 

Sub.    Did  you  looke  35 

O'  the  bolts-head  yet  ? 

Fac.    [within].  Which,  on  D.  sir? 

Sub.    I. 
What's  the  complexion  ? 

25   Surly.    FSur;QSub.     36   F  and  Q  omit  comma  after  Which. 


220  tEije  &k\)tmi$t  [act  ii. 

Fac.    [within] .   Whitish. 

Sub.    Infuse  vinegar, 
To  draw  his  volatile  substance,  and  his  tincture: 
And  let  the  water  in  glasse  E.  be  feltred, 
And  put  into  the  gripes  egge.    Lute  him  well ;     40 
And  leave  him  clos'd  in  balneo. 

Fac.    [within]  .    I  will,  sir. 

Sur.   What  a  brave  language  here  is  ?  next  to 
canting  ? 

Sub.    F  have  another  worke ;  you  never  saw, 
sonne, 
That,  three  dayes   since,  past  the   philosophers 

wheele, 
In  the  lent  heat  of  Athanor ;  and's  become  45 

Sulphur  o'  nature. 

Mam.    But  'tis  for  me  ? 

Sub.  What  need  you  ? 
You  have  inough,  in  that  is,  perfect. 

Mam.    O,  but 

Sub.   Why,  this  is  covetise  ! 

Mam.    No,  I  assure  you, 
I  shall  employ  it  all,  in  pious  uses, 
Founding  of  colledges,  and  grammar  schooles,     50 
Marrying  yong  virgins,  building  hospitalls, 
And  now,  and  then,  a  church. 

[Re-enter  Face.l 
Sub.    How  now  ? 


Scene  III.]  f&ty  &lcl)Cmt$t  221 

Fac.    Sir,  please  you, 
Shall  I  not  change  the  feltre  ? 

Sub.    Mary,  yes. 
And  bring  me  the  complexion  of  glasse  B. 

[Exit  Face.] 

Mam.    Ha'  you  another  ? 

Sub.    Yes,  sonne,  were  I  assur'd  S5 

Your  pietie  were  firme,  we  would  not  want 
The   meanes   to   glorifie    it.      But   I   hope   the 

best : 
I  meane  to  tinct  C.  in  sand-heat,  to  morrow, 
And  give  him  imbibition. 

Mam.    Of  white  oile  ? 

Sub.    No,  sir,  of  red.    F.   is  come  over  the 
helme  too,  60 

I  thanke  my  Maker,  in  S.  Maries  bath, 
And  shewes  lac  virginis.    Blessed  be  heaven. 
I  sent  you  of  his  faxes  there,  calcin'd  : 
Out  of  that  calx,  P  ha'  wonne  the  salt  of  mer- 
cury. 

Mam.    By  powring  on  your  rectified  water  ?     65 

Sub.    Yes,  and  reverberating  in  Athanor. 

[Re-enter  Face.l 

How  now  ?    What  colour  saies  it  ? 
Fac.    The  ground  black,  sir. 
Mam.    That's  your  crowes-head  ? 
Sur.    Your  cocks-comb's,  is't  not  ? 


222  tEtye  #lCljettttet  [Act  II. 

Sub.    No,  'tis  not  perfect,  would  it  were  the 
crow. 
That  worke  wants  some-thing. 

Sur.    (O,  I  look'd  for  this.  7o 

The  hay  is  a  pitching.) 

Sub.    Are  you  sure,  you  loos'd  'hem 
F  their  owne  menstrue  ? 

Fac.    Yes,  sir,  and  then  married  'hem, 
And  put  'hem  in  a  bolts-head,  nipp'd  to  digestion, 
According  as  you  bad  me  ;    when  I  set 
The  liquor  of  Mars  to  circulation,  75 

In  the  same  heat. 

Sub.    The  processe,  then,  was  right. 

Fac.  Yes,  by  the  token,  sir,  the  retort  brake, 
And  what  was  sav'd,  was  put  into  the  pellicane, 
And  sign'd  with  Hermes  seale. 

Sub.    I  thinke  'twas  so. 
We  should  have  a  new  amalgama. 

Sur.    (O,  this  ferret  80 

Is  ranke  as  any  pole-cat.) 

Sub.    But  I  care  not. 
Let  him  e'ene  die;  we  have  enough  beside, 
In  embrion.      H.  ha's  his  white  shirt  on  ? 

Fac.    Yes,  sir, 
Hee's  ripe  for  Ulceration :   he  stands  warme, 
In  his  ash-fire.    I  would  not,  you  should  let  85 

Any  die  now,  if  I  might  counsell,  sir, 
For  lucks  sake  to  the  rest.    It  is  not  good. 

70,  80  Fi  includes  Sur.  in  parenthesis.    Q  omits  it. 


Scene  III.]  f&ty  &lct)ettU0t  223 

Mam.    He  saies  right. 

Sur.    I,  are  you  bolted  ? 

Fac.    Nay,  I  know't,  sir, 
I'  have  seene  th'  ill  fortune.    What  is  some  three 

ounces 
Of  fresh  materialls  ? 

Mam.    Is't  no  more  ? 

Fac.    No  more,  sir,  90 

Of  gold,  t'  amalgame,  with  some  sixe  of  mer- 
curic 

Mam.    Away,    here's    money.       What    will 
serve  ? 

Fac.    Aske  him,  sir. 

Mam.    How  much  ? 

Sub.    Give  him   nine    pound :    you   may   gi' 
him  ten. 

Sur.    Yes,  twentie,  and  be  cossend,  doe. 

Mam.    There  'tis.        [Gives  Face  the  money.] 

Sub.  This  needs  not.    But  that  you  will  have 
it,  so,  9S 

To  see  conclusions  of  all.    For  two 
Of  our  inferiour  workes,  are  at  fixation. 
A  third  is  in  ascension.    Goe  your  waies. 
Ha'  you  set  the  oile  of  Luna  in  kemia  ? 

Fac.    Yes,  sir. 

Sub.    And  the  philosophers  vinegar  ? 

Fac.    I.  [Exit.']  100 

Sur.    We  shall  have  a  sallad. 


224  tEtie  &\itytmtet  [actii. 

Mam.    When  doe  you  make  projection  ? 

Sub.    Sonne,  be  not  hastie,  I  exalt  our  med'- 
cine, 
By  hanging  him  in  balneo  vaporoso ; 
And  giving  him  solution  ;  then  congeale  him ; 
And  then  dissolve  him;  then  againe  congeale 

him ;  105 

For  looke,  how  oft  I  iterate  the  worke, 
So  many  times,  I  adde  unto  his  vertue. 
As,  if  at  first,  one  ounce  convert  a  hundred, 
After  his  second  loose,  hee'll  turne  a  thousand  ; 
His  third  solution,  ten;  his  fourth,  a  hundred,    no 
After  his  fifth,  a  thousand  thousand  ounces 
Of  any  imperfect  mettall,  into  pure 
Silver,  or  gold,  in  all  examinations, 
As  good,  as  any  of  the  naturall  mine. 
Get  you  your  stuffe  here,  against  after-noone,     nS 
Your  brasse,  your  pewter,  and  your  andirons. 

Mam.    Not  those  of  iron  ? 

Sub.    Yes,  you  may  bring  them,  too. 
Wee'll  change  all  mettalls. 

Sur.    I  beleeve  you,  in  that. 

Mam.    Then  I  may  send  my  spits? 

Sub.    Yes,  and  your  racks. 

Sur.    And     dripping-pans,    and    pot-hangers, 

and  hookes  ?  120 

Shall  he  not  ? 

I 1  7  Mctlalls,  F  and  ^)  read  mettall's. 


( 


Scene  III]  ®\)t  &\t\)Cmi2>t  225 

/   Sub.    If  he  please. 

Sur.    ToBe  an  asse. 

Sub.    Htrw,  sir  ! 

Mam.   This  gent'man,  you  must  beare  withall. 
I  told  you,  he  had  no  faith. 

Sur.    And  little  hope,  sir, 
But,  much  lesse  charitie,  should  I  gull  my  selfe. 

Sub.    Why,  what  have  you  observ'd,  sir,  in 

our  art,  125 

Seemes  so  impossible? 

Sur.    But  your  whole  worke,  no  more. 
That  you  should  hatch  gold  in  a  fornace,  sir, 
As  they  doe  egges,  in  Egypt ! 

Sub.    Sir,  doe  you 
Beleeve  that  egges  are  hatch'd  so? 

Sur.    If  I  should  ? 

Sub.    Why,  I  thinke  that  the  greater  miracle.  130 
No  egge,  but  differs  from  a  chicken,  more, 
Then  mettalls  in  themselves. 

Sur.    That  cannot  be. 
The  egg's  ordain'd  by  nature,  to  that  end  : 
And  is  a  chicken  in  potentia. 

Sub.    The    same  we  say   of  lead,  and  other 
mettalls,  135 

Which  would  be  gold,  if  they  had  time. 

Mam.    And  that 
Our  art  doth  furder. 

Sub.    I,  for  'twere  absurd 


226  tEtje  £lrtjetnt0t  [act  h. 

To  thinke  that  Nature,  in  the  earth,  bred  gold 
Perfect,  i'  the  instant.     Something  went  before. 
There  must  be  remote  matter. 

Sur.    I,  what  is  that  ?  .  x4° 

Sub.    Mary,  we  say 

Mam.    I,  now  it  heats  :   stand  father. 
Pound  him  to  dust 

Sub.    It  is,  of  the  one  part, 
A  humide  exhalation,  which  we  call 
Materia  liquida,  or  the  unctuous  water ; 
On  th'  other  part,  a  certaine  crasse,  and  viscous  145 
Portion  of  earth  ;  both  which,  concorporate, 
Doe  make  the  elementarie  matter  of  gold  : 
Which  is  not,  yet,  propria  materia, 
But  commune  to  all  mettalls,  and  all  stones. 
For,  where  it  is  forsaken  of  that  moysture,  150 

And  hath  more  drynesse,  it  becomes  a  stone ; 
Where  it  retaines  more  of  the  humid  fatnesse, 
It  turnes  to  sulphur,  or  to  quick-silver: 
Who  are  the  parents  of  all  other  mettalls. 
Nor  can  this  remote  matter,  sodainly,  '55 

Progresse  so  from  extreme,  unto  extreme, 
As  to  grow  gold,  and  leape  ore  all  the  meanes. 
Nature  doth,  first,  beget  th'  imperfect ;  then 
Proceedes  shee  to  the  perfect.      Of  that  ayrie, 
And  oily  water,  mercury  is  engendered;  160 

Sulphure  o'  the  fat,  and  earthy  part:   the  one, 
(Which  is  the  last,)  supplying  the  place  of  male, 


Scene  III.]  f&ty  &\t\)tmi&t  227 

The  other  of  the  female,  in  all  mettalls. 
Some  doe  beleeve  hermaphrodeitie, 
That  both  doe  act,  and  suffer.    But,  these  two  165 
Make  the  rest  ductile,  malleable,  extensive. 
And,  even  in  gold,  they  are ;   for  we  doe  find 
Secdes  of  them,  by  our  fire,  and  gold  in  them  : 
And  can  produce  the  species  of  each  mettall 
More  perfect  thence,  then  Nature  doth  in  earth.  170 
Beside,  who  doth  not  see,  in  daily  practice, 
Art  can  beget  bees,  hornets,  beetles,  waspes, 
Out  of  the  carcasses,  and  dung  of  creatures  ; 
Yea,  scorpions,  of  an  herbe,  being  ritely  plac'd  : 
And  these  are  living  creatures,  far  more  perfect,  175 
And  excellent,  then  mettalls. 

Mam.    Well  said,  father  ! 
Nay,  if  he  take  you  in  hand,  sir,  with  an  argu- 
ment, 
Hee'll  bray  you  in  a  morter. 

Sur.    'Pray  you,  sir,  stay. 
Rather,  then  I'll  be  brai'd,  sir,  I'll  beleeve, 
That  Alchemie  is  a  pretty  kind  of  game,  180 

Somewhat  like  tricks  o'  the  cards,  to  cheat  a 

man, 
With  charming. 

Sub.    Sir  ? 

Sur.   What  else  are  all  your  termes, 
Whereon   no   one  o'   your  writers  grees  with 
other  ? 


228  Gtfje  &\t\)tmi$t  [Act  II. 

Of  your  elixir,  your  lac  virginis, 

Your  stone,   your   med'cine,  and  your  chryso- 

sperme,  185 

Your  sal,  your  sulphur,  and  your  mercurie, 
Your  oyle  of  height,   your   tree   of  life,  your 

bloud, 
Your  marchesite,  your  tutie,  your  magnesia, 
Your  toade,  your  crow,  your  dragon,  and  your 

panthar, 
Your  sunne,  your  moone,  your  firmament,  your 

adrop,  i9o 

Your  lato,  azoch,  zernich,  chibrit,  heautarit, 
And  then  your  red  man,  and  your  white  woman, 
With  all  your  broths,  your  menstrues,  and  ma- 

terialls, 
Of  pisse,  and  egge-shells,  womens  termes,  mans 

bloud, 
Haire  o'  the  head,  burnt  clouts,  chalke,  merds, 

and  clay,  195 

Poulder  of  bones,  scalings  of  iron,  glasse, 
And  worlds  of  other  strange  ingredients, 
Would  burst  a  man  to  name  ? 
Sub.    And  all  these,  nam'd, 
Intending  but  one  thing :  which  art  our  writers 
Us'd  to  obscure  their  art. 

Alam.    Sir,  so  I  told  him,  200 

Because  the  simple  idiot  should  not  learne  it, 
And  make  it  vulgar. 


Scene  III.]  tyty  glcfyrmttft  229 

Sub.    Was  not  all  the  knowledge 
Of  the  Egyptians  writ  in  mystick  symboles  ? 
Speake  not  the  Scriptures,  oft,  in  parables  ? 
Are  not  the  choicest  fables  of  the  poets,  205 

That  were  the  fountaines  and  first   springs  of 

wisedome, 
Wrapt  in  perplexed  allegories  ? 

Mam.    I  urg'd  that, 
And  clear'd  to  him,  that  Sisiphus  was  damn'd 
To  roule  the  ceaselesse  stone,  onely,  because 
He  would  have  made  ours  common.  Dol  is  scene 

Who  is  this  ?  I>  the  door-~\ 

Sub.    God's  precious — What  doe  you  meane  ? 
Goe  in,  good  lady, 
Let  me  intreat  you.    \_Dol  retires. ~\    Where's  this 
varlet  ? 

[Re-enter  Face.] 

Fac.    Sir  ? 

Sub.    You  very  knave  !  doe  you  use  me,  thus  ? 

Fac.    Wherein,  sir? 

Sub.    Goe  in,  and  see,  you  traitor.    Goe. 

[Exit  Face.] 
Mam.    Who  is  it,  sir  ? 
Sub.    Nothing,  sir.    Nothing. 
Mam.    What's  the  matter  ?   good  sir  !  2I5 

I  have  not  seene  you  thus  distemp'red.    Who 
is't  ? 


23O  1&\)t  &Ul)ettti0t  [Act  II. 

Sub.    All  arts  have  still  had,  sir,  their  adver- 
saries, Fau 
But  ours  the  most  ignorant.    What  now?       returnes. 

Fac.   'Twas    not    my   fault,  sir,   shee  would 
speake  with  you. 

Sub.   Would  she,  sir?    Follow  me. 

[Exit  Subtle.] 

Mam.     [stopping  Face]  .    Stay,  Lungs. 

Fac.    I  dare  not,  sir.  «o 

Mam.    How  !    'Pray  thee  stay  ? 

Fac.    She's  mad,  sir,  and  sent  hether 

Mam.    Stay,  man,  what  is  shee  ? 

Fac.    A  lords  sister,  sir. 
(Hee'll  be  mad  too. 

Mam.    I  warrant  thee.)    Why  sent  hether  ? 

Fac.    Sir,  to  be  cur'd. 

Sub.     [within]  .    Why,  raskall  ! 

Fac.    Loe  you.    Here,  sir.  He  goes  out. 

Mam.    'Fore-god,    a     Bradamante,    a    brave 
piece.  225 

Sur.    Hart,  this  is  a  bawdy-house  !      I'll  be 
burnt  else. 

220.    /  dare  not,  sir.     The  succeeding  lines  in  the  quarto  read  : 

Mam.    How!    'Pray  thee  stay?    Fac.  She's  mad  Sir, 

and  sent  hether 

(He'll    be    mad    too.      Mam.    I  warrant  thee.)    Why 
sent  hether  ?  Fac.    Sir,  to  be  cur'd. 
Possibly  Giffbrd  was  right  in  considering  the  reading  of  the  folio 
a  derangement. 


Scene  III]  f&ty  &lt\)tmi$t  23 1 

Mam.    O,  by  this  light,  no.     Doe  not  wrong 
him.      H'  is 
Too  scrupulous,  that  way.     It  is  his  vice 
No,  h'  is  a  rare  physitian,  doe  him  right. 
An  excellent  Paracelsian  !   and  has  done  230 

Strange  cures  with  minerall  physicke.  He  deales  all 
With  spirits,  he.    He  will  not  heare  a  word 
Of  Galen,  or  his  tedious  recipes.  Face  againe. 

How  now,  Lungs  ! 

Fac.    Softly,  sir;   speake  softly.    I  meant 
To  ha'  told  your  worship  all.     This  must  not 

heare.  235 

Mam.    No,  he  will  not  be  gull'd ;   let  him 

alone. 
Fac.    Y'  are   very  right,  sir,  shee  is  a  most 
rare  schollar ; 
And   is   gone    mad,   with    studying   Braughtons 

workes. 
If  you  but  name  a  word,  touching  the  Hebrew, 
Shee  falls  into  her  fit,  and  will  discourse  24° 

So  learnedly  of  genealogies, 
As  you  would  runne  mad  too,  to  heare  her,  sir. 
Mam.    How  might  one  doe  t'  have  conference 

with  her,  Lungs? 
Fac.    O,   divers  have   runne  mad  upon  the 
conference. 
I  doe  not  know,  sir:   I  am  sent  in  hast,  245 

To  fetch  a  violl. 

233   recipes.      Q  Fi  and  F2  recipe's, 


232  Gtfje  Qlc\)tmi&t  [act  ii. 

Sur.    Be  not  gull'd,  Sir  Mammon. 

Mam.    Wherein  ?    'Pray  yee,  be  patient. 

Sur.    Yes,  as  you  are. 
And  trust  confederate  knaves,  and  bawdes,  and 
whores. 

Mam.    You  are  too  foule,  beleeve  it.     Come 
here,  U(en. 
One  word. 

Fac.    I  dare  not,  in  good  faith.  [Going.] 

Mam.    Stay,  knave.  2So 

Fac.   H' is  extreme  angrie,  that  you  saw  her,  sir. 

Mam.    Drinke    that.  [Gives  him  money. ~\ 

What  is  shee  ?  when  shee's  out  of  her  fit  ? 

Fac.    O,  the  most  affablest  creature,  sir  !   so 
merry  ! 
So  pleasant !   shee'll  mount  you  up,  like  quick- 
silver, 
Over  the  helme,  and  circulate,  like  oyle,  255 

A  very  vegetall :   discourse  of  state, 
Of  mathematiques,  bawdry,  any  thing 

Mam.    Is  shee  no  way  accessible  ?  no  meancs, 
No  trick,  to  give  a  man  a  taste  of  her — wit — 
Or  so  ?  —  Utcn. 

Fac.    I'll  come  to  you  againe,  sir,        [Exit.]  260 

Mam.    Surly,  I  did  not  thinke,  one  o'  your 
breeding 
Would  traduce  personages  of  worth. 

249    Ulen,   Q_  Zephyrus.      259,   260  ivit — Or  so? —  U!en. 
Q  begins  line  260  :    Wit  ?  or  so  ?  and  omits  Ulen. 


Scene  III.]  f&ty  QU\)tmi&t  233 

Sur.    Sir  Epicure, 
Your  friend  to  use  :   yet,  still,  loth  to  be  gull'd. 
I  doe  not  like  your  philosophicall  bawdes. 
Their  stone  is  lecherie  inough,  to  pay  for,  265 

Without  this  bait. 

Mam.    'Hart,  you  abuse  your  selfe. 
I  know  the  lady,  and  her  friends,  and  meanes, 
The  original!  of  this  disaster.    Her  brother 
H'as  told  me  all. 

Sur.    And  yet,  you  ne're  saw  her 
Till  now  ? 

Mam.  0,yes,  but  I  forgot.  I  have  (beleeve  it)  270 
One    o'    the    treacherou'st    memories,    I    doe 

thinke, 
Of  all  mankind. 

Sur.    What  call  you  her  brother  ? 

Mam.    My  Lord 

He    wi'  not    have    his    name    knowne,  now    I 
thinke  on't. 

Sur.    A  very  treacherous  memorie  ! 

Mam.    O'  my  faith 

Sur.    Tut,  if  you  ha'  it  not  about  you,  passe  it,  275 
Till  wee  meet  next. 

Mam.    Nay,  by  this  hand,  'tis  true, 
Hee's  one  I  honour,  and  my  noble  friend, 
And  I  respect  his  house. 

Sur.    Hart !   can  it  be, 

272   Sur.   Q  Sub.    Brother,    F   misprints  :    ivhat  call  you   hert 
brother  ? 


234  Gtfje  3lt\)tmi2>t  [Act  II. 

That  a  grave  sir,  a  rich,  that  has  no  need, 

A  wise  sir,  too,  at  other  times,  should  thus  a8o 

With    his   owne   oathes,  and  arguments,  make 

hard  meanes 
To  gull  himselfe?      And,  this  be  your  elixir, 
Your  lapis  mineralis,  and  your  lunarie, 
Give  me  your  honest  trick,  yet,  at  primero, 
Or  gleeke  ;  and  take  your  lutum  sapientis,  285 

Your  menstruum  simplex:    I'll  have  gold,  before 

you, 
And,  with  lesse  danger  of  the  quick-silver  ; 
Or  the  hot  sulphur. 

\Re-enter  Face.~\ 

Fac.  Here's  one  from  Captaine  Face,  sir,     To  Surly. 
Desires  you  meet  him  i'  the  Temple-church, 
Some  halfe  houre  hence,  and  upon  earnest  busi- 

nesse.  200 

Sir,  if  you  please  to  quit  us,  now  ;   and       He  whispers 

Come,  Mammon. 

Againe,  within  two  houres  :  you  shall  have 
My  master  busie  examining  o'  the  workes; 
And  I  will  steale  you  in,  unto  the  partie, 
That  you  may  see  her  converse.     Sir,  shall  I 

say,  29S 

You'll  meet  the  Captaines  worship  ? 

Sur.    Sir,  I  will.  \_Walks  aside.~] 

But,  by  attorney,  and  to  a  second  purpose. 


scnotm.]         Gtye  alchemist  235 

Now,  I  am  sure,  it  is  a  bawdy-house ; 

I'll  sweare  it,  were  the  Marshall  here,  to  thanke 

me: 
The  naming  this  commander,  doth  confirme  it.  300 
Don    Face  !    why   h'  is    the    most   authentique 

dealer 
F  these  commodities  !    The  superintendent 
To  all  the  queinter  traffiquers,  in  towne. 
He  is  their  visiter,  and  do's  appoint 
Who   lyes   with   whom ;    and  at  what  houre ; 

what  price ;  3°5 

Which  gowne  ;   and  in  what  smock  ;   what  fall ; 

what  tyre. 
Him,  will  I  prove,  by  a  third  person,  to  find 
The  subtilties  of  this  darke  labyrinth  : 
Which,  if  I  doe  discover,  deare  sir  Mammon, 
You'll  give  your  poore  friend  leave,  though  no 

philosopher,  310 

To  laugh  :   for  you  that  are,  'tis  thought,  shall 
weepe. 
Fac.    Sir,  he  do's  pray,  you'll  not  forget. 
Sur.    I  will  not,  sir. 
Sir  Epicure,  I  shall  leave  you  ?  [£at/V.] 

Mam.    I  follow  you,  streight. 
Fac.    But  doe  so,  good  sir,  to  avoid  suspicion. 
This  gent'man  has  a  par'lous  head. 

Mam.    But  wilt  thou,  lUcn,  3J5 

Be  constant  to  thy  promise  ? 

301   authentique,  Fi  and  Qjiutentique.  315    Ulen,  not  in  Q^ 


236  Sftc  alchemist  [act  ii. 

Fac.    As  my  life,  sir. 

Mam.    And  wilt  thou  insinuate  what  I  am  ? 
and  praise  me, 
And  say  I  am  a  noble  fellow  ? 

Fac.    O,  what  else,  sir  ? 
And  that  you'll  make  her  royall,  with  the  stone, 
An   empresse ;    and   your   selfe    King  of  Ban- 
tam. 320 
Mam.   Wilt  thou  doe  this  ? 
Fac.   Will  I,  sir? 
Mam.    Lungs,  my  Lungs  ! 
I  love  thee. 

Fac.    Send  your  stuffe,  sir,  that  my  master 
May  busie  himselfe,  about  projection. 

Mam.  Th'  hast  witch'd  me,  rogue  :  take,  goe. 

[Gives  him  money .1 
Fac.    Your  jack,  and  all,  sir. 
Mam.  Thou  art  a   villaine — I  will  send  my 
jack;  325 

And  the  weights  too.     Slave,  I  could  bite  thine 

eare. 
Away,  thou  dost  not  care  for  me. 
Fac.    Not  I,  sir  ? 

Mam.    Come,  I  was  borne  to  make  thee,  my 
good  weasell ; 
Set  thee   on    a  bench :    and   ha'  thee  twirle   a 

chaine 
With  the  best  lords  vermine  of  'hem  all. 


Scene  IV.]  X&ty  aictjnttttft  237 

Fac.    Away,  sir.  33<} 

Mam.    A  count,  nay,  a  count-palatine 

Fac.    Good  sir,  goe. 

Mam.    Shall  not  advance   thee,  better :    no, 
nor  faster.  [isx/V.] 

Act  II.     Scene  IV. 
[Enter]    Subtle,    [to]    Face,    [with]    Dol. 

Subtle.    Has  he  bit  ?  has  he  bit  ? 

Face.    And  swallow'd  too,  my  Subtle. 
I  ha'  giv'n  him  line,  and  now  he  playes,  i'  faith. 

Sub.    And  shall  we  twitch  him  ? 

Fac.  Thorough  both  the  gills. 
A  wench  is  a  rare  bait,  with  which  a  man 
No    sooner  's    taken,    but    he    straight     firkes 

mad.  5 

Sub.    Dol,  my  Lord  Wha'ts'hums  sister,  you 
must  now 
Beare  your  selfe  Statcltcl). 

Dol.   O,  let  me  alone. 
I'll  not  forget  my  race,  I  warrant  you. 
I'll  keepe  my  distance,  laugh,  and  talke  aloud  ; 
Have  all  the  tricks  of  a  proud  scirvy  ladie,  10 

And  be  as  rude'  as  her  woman. 

Fac.   Well  said,  sanguine. 

Sub.    But  will  he  send  his  andirons  ? 

Fac.    His  jack  too  ; 


238  W$Z  #lCl)emt0t  [Act  II. 

And  's  iron  shooing-horne :   I  ha'  spoke  to  him. 

Well, 
I  must  not  loose  my  wary  gamster,  yonder. 
Sub.   O,  Monsieur  Caution,  that  will  not  be 

gull'd.  IS 

Fac.    I,  if  I  can  strike  a  fine  hooke  into  him, 
now, 
The  Temple-church,  there   I   have   cast  mine 

angle. 
Well,  pray  for  me.      I'll  about  it. 

Sub.   What,  more  gudgeons  !  One  knocks. 

Dol,   scout,  scout ;     \_Dol  goes   to   the  window.] 

stay,  Face,  you  must  goe  to  the  dore  : 
'  Pray  God,  it  be  my  Anabaptist.   Who  is't,  Dol  ?  «° 
Dol.    I   know   him   not.     He   lookes  like  a 

gold-end-man. 
Sub.   Gods  so  !   'tis  he,  he  said  he  would  send. 
What  call  you  him  ? 
The  sanctified  elder,  that  should  deale 
For  Mammons  jack,  and  andirons  !    Let  him  in. 
Stay,  helpe  me  of,  first,  with  my  gowne.    Away,    25 

[Exit  Face.] 
Ma-dame, to  your  with-drawing  chamber.     [Exit 

Do/.]    Now, 
In  a  new  tune,  new  gesture,  but  old  language. 
This  fellow  is  sent,  from  one  negotiates  with 

me 
About  the  stone,  too ;   for  the  holy  Brethren 


Scene  V.]  1&ty  #lcljeitttet  239 

Of  Amsterdam,  the  exil'd  saints  :  that  hope  30 

To  raise  their  discipline,  by  it.     I  must  use  him 
In  some   strange   fashion,   now,   to   make   him 
admire  me. 

Act  II.     Scene  V. 
\_To~\   Subtle,  \_enter~\   Face,  [and]  Ananias. 

[Subtle,  aloud.]    Where  is  my  drudge  ? 

Face.    Sir. 

Sub.  Take  away  the  recipient, 
And  rectifie  your  menstrue,  from  the  phlegma. 
Then  powre  it,  o'  the  Sol,  in  the  cucurbite, 
And  let  'hem  macerate,  together. 

Fac.    Yes,  sir. 
And  save  the  ground  ? 

Sub.    No  :   terra  damnata 
Must  not  have  entrance,  in  the  worke.    Who 

are  you  ?  5 

Ananias.   A  faithfull  brother,  if  it  please  you. 

Sub.  What's  that  ? 
A  Lullianist  ?  a  Ripley  ?    Filius  artis  ? 
Can  you  sublime,  and  dulcifie  ?   calcine  ? 
Know  you  the  sapor  pontick  ?   sapor  stiptick  ? 
Or,  what  is  homogene,  or  heterogene  ?  10 

Ana.   I  understand  no  heathen  language,  truely. 

Sub.    Heathen,  you  Knipper-doling?    Is  Ars 
sacra. 


240  W^t  Qlt\)tmi$t  [Act  II. 

Or  chrysopoeia,  or  spagirica, 

Or  the  pamphysick,  or  panarchick  knowledge, 

A  heathen  language  ? 

Ana.    Heathen  Greeke,  I  take  it.  IS 

Sub.    How  ?   heathen  Greeke  ? 

Ana.    All's  heathen,  but  the  Hebrew. 

Sub.    Sirah,  my  varlet,  stand  you  forth,  and 
speake  to  him 
Like  a  philosopher  :   answer  i'  the  language. 
Name  the  vexations,  and  the  martyrizations 
Of  mettalls,  in  the  worke. 

Fac.    Sir,  putrefaction,  zo 

Solution,  ablution,  sublimation, 
Cohobation,  calcination,  ceration,  and 
Fixation. 

Sub.  This  is  heathen  Greeke  to  you,  now  ? 
And  when  comes  vivification  ? 

Fac.    After  mortification. 

Sub.   What's  cohobation  ? 

Fac.   'Tis  the  powring  on  25 

Your  aqua  regis,  and  then  drawing  him  off", 
To  the  trine  circle  of  the  seven  spheares. 

Sub.  What's  the  proper  passion  of  mettalls  ? 

Fac.    Malleation. 

Sub.   What's  your  ultimum  supplicium  auri  ? 

Fac.    Antimonium. 

Sub.  This's  heathen  Greeke,  to  you  ?    And, 
what's  your  mercury  ?  30 

28    Fi  places  a  comma  after  Malleation. 


Scene  V.]  Qty  QU\)tmi$t  24 1 

Fac.    A  very  fugitive,  he  will  be  gone,  sir. 

Sub.    How  know  you  him  ? 

Fac.    By  his  viscositie, 
His  oleositie,  and  his  suscitabilitie. 

Sub.    How  doe  you  sublime  him  ? 

Fac.  With  the  calce  of  egge-shels, 
White  marble,  talck. 

Sub.   Your  magisterium,  now?  35 

What's  that  ? 

Face.    Shifting,  sir,  your  elements, 
Drie  into  cold,  cold  into  moist,  moist  into  hot, 
hot  into  drie. 

Sub.  This's  heathen  Greeke  to  you,  still  ? 
Your  lapis  philosophicus  ? 

Fac.  'Tis  a  stone, 
And    not    a    stone;    a    spirit,   a    soule,   and    a 

body :  40 

Which  if  you  doe  dissolve,  it  is  dissolv'd  ; 
If  you  coagulate,  it  is  coagulated, 
If  you  make  it  to  flye,  it  flyeth, 

Sub.    Inough. 
This's    heathen    Greeke    to    you  ?      What   are 
you,  sir  ? 

Ana.    Please    you,    a    servant    of   the   exil'd 
brethren,  45 

39-40  '  Tis  a  stone,  etc.      F  and  Q  arrange  these  lines  : 
'Tis  a  stone,  and  not 
A  stone  ;  a  spirit,  a  soule,  and  a  body. 


242  Wtyt  #lCt)CttttSt  [Act  II. 

That  deale  with  widdowes,  and  with  orphanes 

goods ; 
And  make  a  just  account,  unto  the  saints  : 
A  deacon. 

Sub.  O,  you  are  sent  from  Master  Wholsome, 
Your  teacher  ? 

Ana.    From  Tribulation  Wholsome, 
Our  very  zealous  pastor. 

Sub.   Good.    I  have  50 

Some  orphanes  goods  to  come  here. 

Ana.   Of  what  kind,  sir  ? 

Sub.    Pewter,  and  brasse,  andirons,  and  kitchin 
ware, 
Mettalls,  that  we  must  use  our  med'cine  on  : 
Wherein  the  brethren  may  have  a  penn'orth, 
For  readie  money. 

Ana.   Were  the  orphanes  parents  55 

Sincere  professors  ? 

Sub.  Why  doe  you  aske  ? 

Ana.    Because 
We  then  are  to  deale  justly,  and  give  (in  truth) 
Their  utmost  valew. 

Sub.   'Slid,  you'ld  cossen,  else, 
And,  if  their  parents  were  not  of  the  faithfull  ? 
I  will  not  trust  you,  now  I  thinke  on't,  60 

Till  I  ha'  talk'd  with  your  pastor.      Ha'  you 

brought  money 
To  buy  more  coales  ? 


Scene  V.]  tS^t  &\t\)tmi$t  243 

Ana.    No,  surely. 

Sub.    No  ?   how  so  ? 

Ana.  The  Brethren  bid  me  say  unto  you,  sir, 
Surely,  they  will  not  venter  any  more, 
Till  they  may  see  projection. 

Sub.    How  ! 

Ana.  Yo'  have  had,  65 

For  the  instruments,  as  bricks,  and  lome,  and 

glasses, 
Alreadie  thirtie  pound  ;  and,  for  materialls, 
They  say,  some  ninetie  more  :    and,  they  have 

heard,  since, 
That  one,  at  Heidelberg,  made  it,  of  an  egge, 
And  a  small  paper  of  pin-dust. 

Sub.   What's  your  name  ?  7o 

Ana.    My  name  is  Ananias. 

Sub.   Out,  the  varlet 
That  cossend  the  apostles  !    Hence,  away, 
Flee  mischiefe  ;  had  your  holy  consistorie 
No  name  to  send  me,  of  another  sound  ; 
Then  wicked  Ananias  ?    Send  your  elders,  75 

Hither,  to  make  atonement  for  you,  quickly. 
And  gi'  me  satisfaction  ;    or  out-goes 
The  fire  :  and  downe  th'  alembekes,  and  the  for- 

nace. 
Piger  Henricus,  or  what  not.    Thou  wretch, 
Both  sericon,  and  bufo  shall  be  lost,  80 

Tell  'hem.    All  hope  of  rooting  out  the  bishops, 


244  ^t  jaiCtWtttet  [Act  II. 

Or  th'  antichristian  hierarchie  shall  perish, 

If  they  stay  threescore  minutes  :   the  aqueitie, 

Terreitie,  and  sulphureitie 

Shall  runne  together  againe,  and  all  be  annull'd,  85 

Thou  wicked  Ananias.     [Exit  Ananias.]     This 

will  fetch  'hem, 
And  make  'hem  hast  towards  their  gulling  more. 
A  man  must  deale  like  a  rough  nurse,  and  fright 
Those,  that  are  froward,  to  an  appetite. 

Act  II.     Scene  VI. 

[Enter]   Face  [in  bis  uniform,  to]  Subtle,  [with] 
Drugger. 

[Face.]    H'  is  busie  with  his  spirits,  but  wee'll 

upon  him. 
Subtle.    How  now !      What    mates  ?     What 

Baiards  ha'  wee  here  ? 
Fac.    I  told  you,  he  would  be  furious.      Sir, 

here's  Nab, 
Has  brought  yo'  another  piece  of  gold,  to  looke  on : 
(We  must  appease  him.      Give  it  me)  and 

prayes  you,  5 

You  would  devise  (what  is  it,  Nab  ?) 
Drugger.   A  signe,  sir. 
Fac.   I,  a  good  lucky  one,  a  thriving  signe, 

Doctor. 

85   Annull'd,  F  and  Q  omit  the  comma  after  this  word. 


Scene  VI.]  ^ty  &lct)ntttSft  245 

Sub.    I  was  devising  now. 

Fac.   ('Slight,  doe  not  say  so, 
He  will  repent  he  ga'  you  any  more.) 
What  say  you  to  his  constellation,  Doctor  ?  10 

The  Ballance  ? 

Sub.    No,  that  way  is  stale,  and  common. 
A  townes-man,  borne  in  Taurus,  gives  the  bull ; 
Or  the  bulls-head  :  in  Aries,  the  ram. 
A  poore  device.    No,  I  will  have  his  name 
Form'd  in  some  mystick  character;  whose  radii,  15 
Striking  the  senses  of  the  passers  by, 
Shall,  by  a  virtuall  influence,  breed  affections, 
That  may  result  upon  the  partie  ownes  it : 
As  thus 

Fac.    Nab! 

Sub.    He  first  shall  have  a  bell,  that's  Abel ; 
And,  by  it,  standing  one,  whose  name  is  Dee,      20 
In  a  rugg  gowne ;    there's   D.  and  rug,  that's 

drug : 
And,  right  anenst  him,  a  dog  snarling  er ; 
There's    Drugger,   Abel  Drugger.      That's    his 

signe. 
And  here's  now  mysterie,  and  hieroglyphick  ! 

Fac.   Abel,  thou  art  made. 

Dru.   Sir,  I  doe  thanke  his  worship.  25 

Fac.    Sixe  o'  thy  legs  more,  will   not   doe  it, 
Nab. 
He  has  brought  you  a  pipe  of  tabacco,  Doctor. 


246  W$Z  #lCl)emt0t  [Act  n. 

Dru.  Yes,  sir  : 

I  have  another  thing,  I  would  impart 

Fac.   Out  with  it,  Nab. 

Dru.    Sir,  there  is  lodg'd,  hard  by  me, 

A  rich  yong  widdow 30 

Fac.   Good  !   a  bona  roba  ? 
Dru.    But  nineteene,  at  the  most. 
Fac.  Very  good,  Abel. 

Dru.    Mary,  sh'  is  not  in  fashion,  yet ;   shee 
weares 
A  hood  :   but  't  stands  a  cop. 
Fac.    No  matter,  Abel. 
Dru.    And,  I  doe,  now  and  then,  give  her  a 

fucus 

Fac.   What !   dost  thou  deale,  Nab  ?  3  5 

Sub.    I  did  tell  you,  Captaine. 
Dru.    And  physick   too  sometime,   sir :    for 
which  shee  trusts  me 
With  all   her  mind.    Shee's  come  up  here,  of 

purpose 
To  learne  the  fashion. 

Fac.   Good  (his  match  too !)  on,  Nab. 

Dru.    And  shee  do's  strangely  long  to  know 

her  fortune. 
Fac.   Gods  lid,  Nab,  send  her  to  the  Doctor,  4Q 
hether. 

34    Now  and  then,  F  omits  the  comma  after  then. 


Scene  VI.]  Qfot  0lcfjetttt0t  247 

Dru.  Yes,  I  have  spoke  to  her  of  his  wor- 
ship, alreadie : 
But  shee's  afraid,  it  will  be  blowne  abroad 
And  hurt  her  marriage. 

Fac.    Hurt  it  ?  'Tis  the  way 
To  heale  it,  if  'twere  hurt ;  to  make  it  more 
Follow'd,  and  sought :  Nab,  thou  shalt  tell  her 

this.  45 

Shee'll    be  more  knowne,   more  talk'd  of,  and 

your  widdowes 
Are  ne'er  of  any  price  till  they  be  famous ; 
Their  honour  is  their  multitude  of  sutors  : 
Send  her,  it  may  be  thy  good  fortune.    What  ? 
Thou  dost  not  know. 

Dru.    No,  sir,  shee'll  never  marry  50 

Under    a    knight.      Her    brother    has    made   a 

vow. 
Fac.   What,  and  dost  thou  despaire,  my  little 

Nab, 
Knowing,  what  the  Doctor  has  set  downe  for 

thee, 
And,  seeing  so  many,  o'  the  city,  dub'd  ? 
One  glasse   o'   thy  water,  with   a    Madame,   I 

know, 
Will  have  it  done,  Nab.    What's  her  brother? 

a  knight  ? 
Dru.    No,  sir,  a  gentleman,  newly  warme  in' 

his  land,  sir, 


55 


248  W()t  Q\t\)tmi8t  [Act  II. 

Scarse  cold  in  his  one  and  twentie  ;  that  do's 

governe 
His  sister,  here:   and  is  a  man  himselfe 
Of  some  three  thousand  a  yeere,  and  is  come  up  60 
To  learne  to  quarrell,  and  to  live  by  his  wits, 
And   will   goe   downe   againe,   and   dye   i'   the 
countrey. 

Fac.    How  !   to  quarrell  ? 

Dru.   Yes,  sir,  to  carry  quarrells, 
As  gallants  doe,  and  manage  'hem,  by  line. 

Fac.    'Slid,  Nab  !      The  Doctor  is  the  onely 

man  65 

In    Christendome   for    him.      He    has   made   a 

table, 
With  mathematicall  demonstrations, 
Touching  the  art  of  quarrells.    He  will  give  him 
An  instrument  to  quarrell  by.    Goe,  bring  'hem, 

both  : 
Him,  and  his  sister.    And,  for  thee,  with  her        7° 
The  Doctor  happ'ly  may  perswade.    Goe  to. 
'Shalt  give  his  worship,  a  new  damaske  suite 
Upon  the  premisses. 

Sub.   O,  good  Captaine. 

Fac.    He  shall, 
He  is  the  honestest  fellow,  Doctor.    Stay  not, 
No  offers,  bring  the  damaske,  and  the  parties.      7S 

Dru.    I'll  trie  my  power,  sir. 

74  Stay,  QJay. 


So 


Scene  VI]  tEljC  &\t\)tmi&t  249 

Fac.    And  thy  will,  too,  Nab. 

Sub.  'Tis  good  tabacco  this  !      What  is't  an 

ounce  ? 
Fac.    He'll  send  you  a  pound,  Doctor. 
Sub.   O,  no. 
Fac.    He  will  do't. 
It  is  the  gooddest  soule.    Abel,  about  it. 
(Thou  shalt  know  more  anone.    Away,  be  gone.) 

[Exit  Abel.'] 
A  miserable  rogue,  and  lives  with  cheese, 
And   has  the   wormes.     That    was    the   cause 

indeed 
Why   he   came  now.      He   dealt   with  me,  in 

private,  85 

To  get  a  med'cine  for  'hem. 

Sub.    And  shall,  sir.    This  workes. 
Fac.    A  wife,  a  wife,  for  one  on  'us,  my  deare 
Subtle  : 
Wee'll  eene  draw  lots,  and  he,  that  failes,  shall 

have 
The  more  in  goods,  the  other  has  in  taile. 

Sub.    Rather  the  lesse.    For  shee  may  be   so 
light  9° 

Shee  may  want  graines. 

Fac.    I,  or  be  such  a  burden, 
A  man  would  scarce  endure  her,  for  the  whole. 
Sub.    Faith,  best  let's  see  her  first,  and   then 
determine. 


250  WS$  &lrt)emt0t  [Act  II. 

Fac.  Content.    But  Dol  must  ha'  no  breath 

on't. 
Sub.    Mum. 
Away,  you  to  your  Surly  yonder,  catch  him.        95 
Fac.    'Pray  God,  I  ha'  not  stai'd  too  long. 
Sub.    I  feare  it.  \_Exeunt.~\ 


Act  III.     Scene  I. 
[ Enter]   Tribulation,  [ancT\  Ananias. 

[Tribulation.]    These  chastisements  are  com- 
mon to  the  Saints, 
And  such  rebukes  we  of  the  separation 
Must  beare,  with  willing  shoulders,  as  the  trialls 
Sent  forth,  to  tempt  our  frailties. 

Ananias.    In  pure  zeale, 
I  doe  not  like  the  man  :  he  is  a  heathen.  5 

And  speakes  the  language  of  Canaan,  truely. 

Tri.    I  thinke  him  a  prophane  person,  indeed. 

Ana.    He  beares 
The  visible  marke  of  the  beast,  in  his  fore-head. 
And  for  his  stone,  it  is  a  worke  of  darknesse, 
And,  with  philosophic,  blinds  the  eyes  of  man.     10 

Tri.   Good  brother,  we  must  bend  unto  all 
meanes, 
That  may  give  furtherance,  to  the  holy  cause. 

Ana.  Which  his  cannot :  the  sanctified  cause 
Should  have  a  sanctified  course. 

Tri.    Not  alwaies  necessary.  15 

2   And  such  rebukes. 

Q    And  such  rebukes  th'  elect  must  beare,  with  patience  j 

They  are  the  exercises  of  the  spirit, 

And  sent  to  tempt  our  fraylties. 


252  Slje  glctjemist  [act  m. 

The  children  of  perdition  are  oft-times, 

Made  instruments  even  of  the  greatest  workes. 

Beside,  we  should  give  somewhat  to  mans  nature, 

The  place  he  lives  in,  still  about  the  fire, 

And  fume  of  mettalls,  that  intoxicate  *o 

The  braine  of  man,  and  make   him  prone  to 

passion. 
Where  have   you   greater    atheists,  then    your 

cookes  ? 
Or    more    prophane,    or    cholerick    then    your 

glasse-men  ? 
More  antichristian,  then  your  bell-founders  ? 
What  makes  the  devill  so  devillish,  I  would  aske 

you,  25 

Sathan,  our  common  enemie,  but  his  being 
Perpetually  about  the  fire,  and  boyling 
Brimstone,  and  arsnike  ?    We  must  give,  I  say, 
Unto  the  motives,  and  the  stirrers  up 
Of  humours  in  the  bloud.    It  may  be  so.  30 

When  as  the  worke  is  done,  the  stone  is  made, 
This  heate  of  his  may  turne  into  a  zeale, 
And  stand  up  for  the  beauteous  discipline, 
Against  the  menstruous  cloth,  and  ragg  of  Rome. 
We  must  await  his  calling,  and  the  comming       35 
Of  the  good  spirit.      You  did  fault,  t'  upbraid 

him 
With    the    Brethrens    blessing    of   Heidelberg, 

waighing 


4° 


Scene  II.]  GI^  ^IctjCttttSt  253 

What  need  we  have,  to  hasten  on  the  worke, 
For  the  restoring  of  the  silenc'd  Saints, 
Which  ne'er  will  be,  but  by  the  philosophers 

stone. 
And,  so  a  learned  elder,  one  of  Scotland, 
Assur'd  me ;  aurum  potabile  being 
The  onely  med'cine,  for  the  civill  magistrate, 
T'  incline  him  to  a  feeling  of  the  cause : 
And  must  be  daily  us'd,  in  the  disease.  45 

Ana.  I  have  not  edified  more,  truely,  by  man  ; 
Not,  since  the  beautifull  light,  first,  shone  on  me  : 
And  I  am  sad,  my  zeale  hath  so  offended. 

Tri.    Let  us  call  on  him,  then. 

Ana.   The  motion's  good, 
And  of  the  spirit ;  I  will  knock  first :    [knocks.] 

Peace  be  within.  50 

Act  III.     Scene  II. 
[Enter]   Subtle,  [to]    Tribulation,  Ananias. 

[Subtle.]    O,  are   you    come  ?     'Twas  time. 

Your  threescore  minutes 
Were  at  the  last  thred,  you  see ;  and  downe  had 

gone 
Furnus  acedice,  turris  circulatorius : 
Lembeke,  bolt's-head,  retort,  and  pellicane 
Had  all  beene  cinders.     Wicked  Ananias  !  5 

Art  thou  return'd  ?      Nay  then,  it  goes  downe, 

yet. 


254  ®¥  &Ul)emt0t  [Act  III. 

Tribulation.    Sir,  be  appeased,  he  is  come  to 
humble 
Himselfe  in  spirit,  and  to  aske  your  patience, 
If  too  much  zeale  hath  carried  him,  aside, 
From  the  due  path. 

Sub.    Why,  this  doth  qualifie  !  IO 

Tri.   The  Brethren  had  no  purpose,  verely, 
To  give  you  the  least  grievance  :   but  are  ready 
To  lend  their  willing  hands,  to  any  project 
The  spirit,  and  you  direct. 

Sub.   This  qualifies  more  ! 

Tri.  And,  for  the  orphanes  goods,  let  them 
be  valew'd,  15 

Or  what  is  needfull,  else,  to  the  holy  worke, 
It  shall  be  numbred :  here,  by  me,  the  Saints 
Throw  downe  their  purse  before  you. 

Sub.   This  qualifies,  most ! 
Why,  thus  it  should  be,  now  you  understand. 
Have  I  discours'd  so  unto  you,  of  our  stone  ?       20 
And,  of  the  good  that  it  shall  bring  your  cause  ? 
Shew'd  you,  (beside  the  mayne  of  hiring  forces 
Abroad,  drawing  the  Hollanders,  your  friends, 
From   th'   Indies,  to  serve  you,  with   all  their 

fleete) 
That  even  the  med'cinall  use  shall  make  you  a 

faction,  25 

And  party  in  the  realme  ?    As,  put  the  case, 
That  some  great  man  in  state,  he  have  the  gout, 


Scene  II.]  {fttje  QltfylWiiSt  255 

Why,  you  but  send  three  droppes  of  your  elixir, 
You  helpe  him  straight :  there  you  have  made  a 

friend. 
Another  has  the  palsey,  or  the  dropsie,  30 

He  takes  of  your  incombustible  stuffe, 
Hee's  yongagaine:  there  you  have  made  a  friend. 
A  Lady,  that  is  past  the  feate  of  body, 
Though  not  of  minde,  and  hath  her  face  decay'd 
Beyond  all  cure  of  paintings,  you  restore  35 

With  the  oyle  of  talck ;  there  you  have  made  a 

friend  : 
And  all  her  friends.    A  Lord,  that  is  a  leper, 
A  knight,  that  has  the  bone-ache,  or  a  squire 
That  hath  both  these,  you  make  'hem  smooth, 

and  sound, 
With  a  bare  fricace  of  your  med'cine  :   still,         40 
You  increase  your  friends. 

Tri.    I,  'tis  very  pregnant. 

Sub.  And,  then,  the  turning  of  this  lawyers 
pewter 
To  plate,  at  Christ-masse 

Ananias.   Christ-tide,  I  pray  you. 

Sub.  Yet,  Ananias  ? 

Ana.    I  have  done. 

Sub.   Or  changing 
His  parcell  guilt,  to  massie  gold.    You  cannot      4S 
But  raise  you  friends.    With  all,  to  be  of  power 
To  pay  an  armie,  in  the  field,  to  buy 

35  paintings,  Q__painting.  36  talck,   Fi  and  F2  talek. 


256  tElje  0lct}emt0t  [act  hi. 

The  king   of  France,  out  of  his  realmes ;   or 

Spaine, 
Out  of  his  Indies  :   what  can  you  not  doe, 
Against  lords  spirituall,  or  temporall,  50 

That  shall  oppone  you  ? 
Tri.  Verily,  'tis  true. 
We  maybe  temporall  lords,  our  selves,  I  take  it. 
Sub.  You  may  be  anything,  and  leave  off  to 
make 
Long-winded  exercises  :   or  suck  up 
Your  ha,  and  hum,  in  a  tune.    I  not  denie  55 

But  such  as  are  not  graced,  in  a  state, 
May,  for  their  ends,  be  adverse  in  religion, 
And  get  a  tune,  to  call  the  flock  together : 
For    (to    say   sooth)   a   tune   do's   much,   with 

women, 
And  other  phlegmatick  people,  it  is  your  bell.       60 
Ana.    Bells   are    prophane :    a   tune    may   be 

religious. 
Sub.    No  warning  with  you  ?    Then,  farewell 
my  patience. 
'Slight,  it  shall  downe  :   I   will   not  be  thus  tor- 
tur'd. 
Tri.    I  pray  you,  sir. 
Sub.    All  shall  perish.    I  have  spoke  it. 
Tri.    Let   me  find   grace,  sir,  in   your  eyes ; 
the  man  65 

54   F  and  Q  place  a  comma  after  suck  up. 


Scene  II.]  f&ty  &lct)emt$t  257 

He  stands  corrected:   neither  did  his  zeale 
(But  as  your  selfe)  allow  a  tune,  some-where. 
Which,  now,  being  to'ard  the  stone,  we  shall 

not  need. 
Sub.    No,   nor   your  holy    vizard,   to   winne 

widdowes 
To  give  you  legacies;   or  make  zealous  wives       7o 
To  rob  their  husbands,  for  the  common  cause  : 
Nor   take   the    start  of  bonds,  broke    but   one 

day, 
And  say,  they  were  forfeited,  by  providence. 
Nor  shall  you  need,  ore-night  to  eate  huge  meales, 
To  celebrate  your  next  daies  fast  the  better :         75 
The     whilst    the    Brethren,    and    the    Sisters, 

humbled, 
Abate  the  stiffenesse  of  the  flesh.    Nor  cast 
Before  your  hungrie  hearers,  scrupulous  bones, 
As  whether  a  Christian  may  hawke,  or  hunt ; 
Or  whether,  matrons,  of  the  holy  assembly,  80 

May  lay  their  haire  out,  or  weare  doublets  : 
Or  have  that  idoll  starch,  about  their  linnen. 
Ana.    It  is,  indeed,  an  idoll. 
Trl.    Mind  him  not,  sir. 
I  doe  command  thee,  spirit  (of  zeale,  but  trouble) 
To  peace  within  him.    Pray  you,  sir,  goe  on.       s5 
Sub.    Nor  shall  you  need  to  libell  'gainst  the 

prelates, 
And  shorten  so  your  eares,  against  the  hearing 

72  bonds,   Q^_bandes. 


258  &\)t  &\t\)tmi$t  [Act  III. 

Of  the  next  wire-drawne  grace.    Nor,  of  ne- 

cessitie, 
Raile  against  playes,  to  please  the  alderman, 
Whose  daily  custard  you  devoure.    Nor  lie  90 

With  zealous  rage,  till  you  are  hoarse.    Not  one 
Of  these  so  singular  arts.     Nor  call  your  selves 
By  names  of  Tribulation,  Persecution, 
Restraint,  Long-patience,  and  such  like,  affected 
By  the  whole  family,  or  wood  of  you,  95 

Onely  for  glorie,  and  to  catch  the  eare 
Of  the  disciple. 

Tri.   Truely,  sir,  they  are 
Wayes,  that  the  godly  Brethren  have  invented, 
For  propagation  of  the  glorious  cause, 
As  very  notable  meanes,  and  whereby,  also,        100 
Themselves  grow  soone,  and  profitably  famous. 

Sub.   O,  but  the  stone,  all's   idle  to'  it !   no- 
thing ! 
The  art  of  angels,  nature's  miracle, 
The  divine  secret,  that  doth  flye  in  clouds, 
From  east  to  west :  and  whose  tradition  105 

Is  not  from  men,  but  spirits. 

Ana.    I  hate  traditions  : 
I  do  not  trust  them 

Tri.    Peace. 

Ana.  They  are  Popish,  all. 
I  will  not  peace.     I  will  not 

Tri.    Ananias. 

99  glorious,  Q_hoiy.  107  them,  Q^'hem. 


Scene  II.]  X&\)t  glctjCltttSft  259 

Ana.    Please    the    prophane,    to    grieve    the 

godly  :   I  may  not. 
Sub.    Well,  Ananias,  thou  shalt  over-come,     no 
Tri.    It  is  an  ignorant  zeale,  that  haunts  him, 
sir, 
But  truely,  else,  a  very  faithfull  brother, 
A  botcher  :   and  a  man,  by  revelation, 
That  hath  a  competent  knowledge  of  the  truth. 
Sub.    Has  he  a   competent    summe,  there,  i' 
the  bagg,  „s 

To  buy  the  goods,  within  ?    I  am  made  guardian, 
And  must,  for  charitie,  and  conscience  sake, 
Now,   see   the   most    be    made,    for   my   poore 

orphane  : 
Though  I  desire  the  Brethren,  too,  good  gayners. 
There,    they    are,    within.       When    you    have 

view'd,  and  bought  'hem,  120 

And  tane  the  inventorie  of  what  they  are, 
They  are  readie  for  projection  ;  there's  no  more 
To  doe  :   cast  on  the  med'cine,  so  much  silver 
As  there  is  tinne  there,  so  much  gold  as  brasse, 
I'll  gi'  it  you  in,  by  waight. 

Tri.    But  how  long  time,  125 

Sir,  must  the  Saints  expect,  yet  ? 

Sub.    Let  me  see, 
How's  the  moone,  now?   Eight,  nine,  ten  dayes 

hence 
He  will  be  silver  potate ;  then,  three  dayes, 

120  and,  F2.       Fl  Q__:    & 


260  Wt$  Qh\)tmi8t  [act  in. 

Before  he  citronise  :  some  fifteene  dayes, 
The  magisterium  will  be  perfected.  130 

Ana.  About    the    second    day,  of  the  third 
weeke, 
In  the  ninth  month  ? 

Sub.  Yes,  my  good  Ananias. 

Tri.   What  will  the  orphanes  goods  arise  to, 

thinke  you  ? 
Sub.    Some  hundred  markes  ;  as  much  as  fill'd 
three  carres, 
Unladed  now  :  you'll  make  sixe  millions  of  'hem.  135 
But  I  must  ha'  more  coales  laid  in. 
Tri.    How  ! 
Sub.  Another  load, 
And  then  we  ha'  finish'd.      We  must  now  en- 
crease 
Our  fire  to  ignis  ardens,  we  are  past 
Fimus  equinus,  balnei,  cineris, 

And  all  those  lenter  heats.    If  the  holy  purse      140 
Should,  with  this  draught,  fall  low,  and  that  the 

Saints 
Doe  need  a  present  summe,  I  have  a  trick 
To  melt  the  pewter,  you  shall   buy  now,  in- 
stantly, 
And,  with  a  tincture,  make  you  as  good  Dutch 

dollers, 
As  any  are  in  Holland. 

Tri.    Can  you  so  ?  145 

135  you '11,  Q^you  shall.  142  a  trick,  Fl  and  Qjjmit  a. 


Scene  II.]  X&ty  glcfjCtnitft  26 1 

Sub.    I,  and  shall  bide  the  third  examination. 

Ana.    It  will  be  joyfull  tidings  to  the  Brethren. 

Sub.    But  you  must  carry  it,  secret. 

Tri.    I,  but  stay, 
This  act  of  coyning,  is  it  lawfull  ? 

Ana.    Lawfull  ? 
We  know  no  magistrate.    Or,  if  we  did,  150 

This's  forraine  coyne. 

Sub.    It  is  no  coyning,  sir. 
It  is  but  casting. 

Tri.    Ha  ?   you  distinguish  well. 
Casting  of  money  may  be  lawfull. 

Ana.  'Tis,  sir. 

Tri.    Truely,  I  take  it  so. 

Sub.    There  is  no  scruple, 
Sir,  to  be  made  of  it  ;   beleeve  Ananias  :  155 

This  case  of  conscience  he  is  studied  in. 

Tri.    I'll    make    a    question    of     it,    to    the 
Brethren, 

Ana.    The  Brethren  shall   approve  it  lawfull, 
doubt  not. 
Where  shall't  be  done  ? 

Sub.    For  that  wee'll  talke,  anone.       Knock  'without. 
There's   some  to   speake  with  me.      Goe   in,  I 

pray  you,  160 

And  view  the  parcells.    That's  the  inventorie. 
I'll  come  to  you  straight. 

[ Exeunt  Tribulation  and  Ananias.] 
Who  is  it  ?    Face  !   Appeare. 


262  ®\)t  #lct)WU0t  [Act  III. 

Act  III.     Scene  III. 
Subtle^  Face  \in  his  uniform ;   later\ ,  Dol. 

Subtle.    How  now?    Good  prise? 

Face.    Good  poxe  !    Yond'  caustive  cheater 
Never  came  on. 

Sub.    How  then  ? 

Fac.    I  ha'  walk'd  the  round, 
Till  now,  and  no  such  thing. 

Sub.   And  ha'  you  quit  him  ? 

Fac.   Quit  him  ?  and  hell  would  quit  him  too, 
he  were  happy. 
'Slight  would  you  have  me  stalke  like  a  mill-jade, 
All  day,  for  one,  that  will  not  yeeld  us  graines  ? 
I  know  him  of  old. 

Sub.  O,  but  to  ha'  gull'd  him 
Had  beene  a  maistry. 

Fac.    Let  him  goe,  black  boy, 
And  turne  thee,  that  some  fresh  newes  may  pos- 

sesse  thee. 
A  noble  count,  a  don  of  Spaine  (my  deare 
Delicious  compeere,  and  my  partie-bawd) 
Who  is  come  hether,  private,  for  his  conscience, 
And    brought    munition   with    him,  sixe    great 

slopps, 
Bigger  then  three  Dutch  hoighs,  beside  round 
trunkes, 


Scene  III.]  Wtyt  &lcl)CmtSft  263 

Furnish'd  with  pistolets,  and  pieces  of  eight,         I5 
Will  straight  be  here,  my   rogue,  to  have  thy 

bath 
(That  is  the  colour,)  and  to  make  his  battry 
Upon  our  Dol,  our  castle,  our  cinque-port, 
Our  Dover  pire,  our  what   thou  wilt.      Where 

is  shee  ? 
Shee  must  prepare  perfumes,  delicate  linnen,        20 
The  bath  in  chiefe,  a  banquet,  and  her  wit, 
For  shee  must  milke  his  Epididimis. 
Where  is  the  doxie  ? 

Sub.    I'll  send  her  to  thee  : 
And  but  dispatch  my  brace  of  little  John  Ley- 
dens, 
And  come  againe  my  selfe. 

Fac.   Are  they  within  then  ?  as 

Sub.    Numbring  the  summe. 
Fac.    How  much  ? 

Sub.   A  hundred  marks,  boy.  [£*//.] 

Fac.    Why,  this's  a  lucky  day  !    Ten  pounds 
of  Mammon  ! 
Three  o'  my  clarke  !    A  portague  o'  my  gro- 
cer ! 
This  o'  the  brethren  !   beside  reversions,  30 

And    states,  to    come    i'  the  widdow,  and    my 

count ! 
My    share,  to    day,   will    not    be    bought    for 
fortie 

22  milke,  Q^feele. 


264  W$z  alchemist  [act  hi. 

[Enter  Dol.~] 
Dol.  What? 
Fac.    Pounds,  daintie  Dorothee  !   art  thou  so 

neere  ? 
Dol.   Yes,  say  lord  generall,  how  fare's  our 

campe  ? 
Fac.  As,  with  the  few,  that  had  entrench'd 
themselves  35 

Safe,  by  their  discipline,  against  a  world,  Dol : 
And  laugh'd,  within  those  trenches,  and  grew  fat 
With  thinking  on  the  booties,  Dol,  brought  in 
Daily,  by  their  small  parties.    This  deare  houre, 
A  doughty  don  is  taken,  with  my  Dol ;  4o 

And  thou   maist  make  his  ransome,  what  thou 

wilt, 
My  Dousabell  :  he  shall  be  brought  here,  fetter'd 
With  thy  faire  lookes,  before  he  see's  thee ;  and 

throwne 
In  a  downe-bed,  as  darke  as  any  dungeon; 
Where  thou   shalt  keepe  him  waking,  with  thy 

drum ;  45 

Thy  drum,  my  Dol ;  thy  drum  ;  till  he  be  tame 
As  the  poore  black-birds  were  i'  the  great  frost, 
Or  bees  are  with  a  bason  :  and  so  hive  him 
I'  the  swan-skin  coverlid,  and  cambrick  sheets, 
Till  he  worke  honey,  and  waxe,  my  little  Gods- 
gift.  50 
Dol.  What  is  he,  generall  ? 


Scene  III.]  Qfyt  &lrt)nHt0t  265 

Fac.   An  adalantado, 
A  grande[e],  girle.     Was  not  my  Dapper  here, 
yet  ? 

Dol.    No. 

Fac.    Nor  my  D  rugger  ? 

Dol.    Neither. 

Fac.   A  poxe  on  'hem, 
They  are  so  long  a  furnishing  !      Such  stinkards  55 
Would  not  be  seene,  upon  these  festivall  dayes. 

[Re-enter  Subtle.^ 

How  now  !   ha'  you  done  ? 

Sub.    Done.    They  are  gone.    The  summe 
Is  here  in  banque,  my  Face.   I  would,  we  knew 
Another  chapman,  now,  would   buy  'hem  out- 
right. 60 

Fac.    'Slid,  Nab  shall  doo't  against  he  ha'  the 
widdow, 
To  furnish  household. 

Sub.    Excellent,  well  thought  on, 
Pray  God,  he  come  ! 

Fac.    I  pray,  he  keepe  away 
Till  our  new  businesse  be  o're-past. 

Sub.    But,  Face, 
How  cam'st  thou,  by  this  secret  don  ? 

Fac.    A  spirit  65 

Brought  me  th'  intelligence,  in  a  paper,  here, 

65   F  and  Q^  place  a  (,)  after  thou  and  omit  Fac. 


266  Wtyt  #lct)emist  [act  m. 

As  I  was  conjuring,  yonder,  in  my  circle 
For  Surly :  I  ha'  my  flies  abroad.    Your  bath 
Is   famous,  Subtle,  by  my  meanes.    Sweet  Dol, 
You  must  goe  tune  your  virginall,  no  loosing       7° 
O'  the  least  time.    And,  doe  you  heare?    good 

action. 
Firke,  like  a   flounder ;    kisse,  like   a  scallop, 

close: 
And  tickle  him  with  thy  mother-tongue.    His 

great 
Verdugo-ship  has  not  a  jot  of  language: 
So  much  the  easier  to  be  cossin'd,  my  Dolly.       75 
He  will  come  here,  in  a  hir'd  coach,  obscure, 
And  our  owne  coach-man,  whom  I  have  sent, 

as  guide, 
No  creature  else.    Who's  that  ?  One  knocks. 

\Dol  peeps  through  the  window.~\ 
Sub.    It  i'  not  he  ? 
Fac.    O  no,  not  yet  this  houre. 
Sub.  Who  is't  ? 

Dol.    Dapper,  80 

Your  clarke. 

Fac.   Gods  will,  then,  Queene  of  Faerie, 
On   with  your   tyre  ;    [exit  Dof\   and,  Doctor, 

with  your  robes. 
Lett's  dispatch  him,  for  Gods  sake. 
Sub.    'Twill  be  long. 

69   F  omits  the  comma  after  famous.  75   F  omits  the  period. 

83   Lett's,  (^Lett's  us. 


Scene  IV]  f&ty  glctjetttlSt  267 

Fac.    I  warrant  you,  take  but  the  cues  I  give 
you, 
It  shall  be  briefe  inough.     [Goes  to  the  window.~\ 

'Slight,  here  are  more  !  85 

Abel,  and  I  thinke,  the  angrie  boy,  the  heire, 
That  faine  would  quarrell. 
Sub.   And  the  widdow  ? 
Fac.    No, 
Not  that  I  see.    Away.  [Exit  Subtle.] 

[Enter  Dapper.] 

O  sir,  you  are  welcome. 

Act  HI.     Scene  IV. 

Face,  Dapper;  [enter]  Drugger,  [and] 
Kastril. 

[Face.]    The  Doctor  is  within,  a  moving  for 
you  ; 
(I  have  had  the  most  adoe  to  winne  him  to  it) 
Hee  sweares,  you'll  be  the  dearling  o'  the  dice: 
He  never  heard  her  highnesse  dote,  till  now  (he 

sayes.) 
Your    aunt  has  giv'n    you   the  most   gracious 

words,  5 

That  can  be  thought  on. 

Dapper.    Shall  I  see  her  grace  ? 

4   Till  now  (Ae  sayes.),  Q  omits  the  last  two  words. 


268  ®\)t  &lt\)tmi8t  [Act  III. 

Fac.   See  her,  and  kisse  her,  too. — 
\Enter  Abel,  followed  by  Kastril.~\ 

What  ?  honest  Nab  ! 
Ha'st  brought  the  damaske? 

Drugger.    No,  sir,  here's  tabacco. 

Fac.  'Tis  well  done,  Nab  :   thou'lt  bring  the 

damaske  too  ? 
Dru.    Yes,   here's  the  gentleman,  Captaine, 
Master  Kastril,  10 

I  have  brought  to  see  the  Doctor. 
Fac.    Where's  the  widdow  ? 
Dru.    Sir,  as    he  likes,  his   sister  (he  sayes) 

shall  come. 
Fac.    O,  is  it  so  ?  'good  time.    Is  your  name 

Kastril,  sir  ? 
Kastril.    I,  and  the  best  o'  the  Kastrils,  I'lld 
be  sorry  else 
By  fifteene   hundred,  a   yeere.    Where  is  this 

Doctor?  15 

My  mad  tabacco-boy,  here,  tells  me  of  one, 
That  can  doe  things.    Has  he  any  skill  ? 
Fac.   Wherein,  sir  ? 

Kas.  To  carry  a  businesse,  manage  a  quar- 
rell,  fairely, 
Upon  fit  termes. 

Fac.    It  seemes,  sir,  yo'  are  but  yong 
About  the  towne,  that  can  make  that  a  question  !   20 

8    Drugger,  all  old  edd.  read  Nab.  9  Q_  omits  Nab. 

1 3    ' 'good,  Q__Good. 


Scene   IV.]  f&ty  jglctyetttfet  269 

Kas.    Sir,  not  so  yong,  but  I  have  heard  some 
speech 
Of  the  angrie  boyes,  and  seene  'hem  take  tabacco ; 
And  in  his  shop  :  and  I  can  take  it  too. 
And  I   would  faine   be  one   of  'hem,  and  goe 

downe 
And  practise  i'  the  countrey. 

Fac.    Sir,  for  the  duello,  25 

The  Doctor,  I  assure  you,  shall  informe  you, 
To  the  least  shaddow  of  a  haire  :  and  shew  you, 
An  instrument  he  has,  of  his  owne  making, 
Where-with,  no  sooner  shall  you  make  report 
Of  any  quarrell,  but  he  will  take  the  height  on't,  30 
Most  instantly  ;   and  tell  in  what  degree, 
Of  safty  it  lies  in,  or  mortalitie. 
And,  how  it  may  be  borne,  whether  in  a  right 

line, 
Or  a  halfe-circle ;  or  may,  else,  be  cast 
Into  an  angle  blunt,  if  not  acute  :  35 

All  this  he  will  demonstrate.    And  then,  rules, 
To  give,  and  take  the  lie,  by. 
Kas.    How  ?   to  take  it  ? 
Fac.    Yes,  in  oblique,  hee'll  shew  you  ;  or  in 
circle : 
But  never  in  diameter.    The  whole  towne 
Studie  his  theoremes,  and  dispute  them,  ordi- 
narily, 40 
At  the  eating  academies. 


270  W$t  #ld)emtSt  [Act  III. 

Kas.    But,  do's  he  teach 
Living,  by  the  wits,  too  ? 

Fac.    Any  thing,  what  ever. 
You  cannot  thinke  that  subtletie,but  he  reades  it. 
He  made  me  a  Captaine.    I  was  a  starke  pimpe, 
Just  o'  your  standing,  'fore  I  met  with  him  :        45 
It  i'  not  two   months  since.      I'll  tell  you   his 

method. 
First,  he  will  enter  you,  at  some  ordinarie. 

Kas.    No,    I'll    not   come  there.    You  shall 
pardon  me. 

Fac.    For  why,  sir  ? 

Kas.    There's  gaming  there,  and  tricks. 

Fac.  Why,  would  you  be 
A  gallant,  and  not  game  ? 

Kas.    I,  'twill  spend  a  man.  50 

Fac.    Spend  you  ?    It  will  repaire  you,  when 
you  are  spent. 
How   doe  they  live  by  their  wits,  there,  that 

have  vented 
Sixe  times  your  fortunes  ? 

Kas.  What,  three  thousand  a  yeere  ! 

Fac.    I,  fortie  thousand. 

Kas.    Are  there  such  ? 

Fac.    I,  sir, 
And  gallants,  yet.    Here's  a  yong  gentleman,        55 
Is    borne  to   nothing,  [points  to  Dapper]  fortie 
markes  a  yeere, 


Scene  IV.]  Qfyt  &lt\)tmi$t  2JI 

Which  I  count  nothing.     H'  is  to  be  initiated, 
And  have  a  flye  o'  the  Doctor.    He  will  winne 

you 
By  unresistable  lucke,  within  this  fortnight, 
Inough  to  buy  a  baronie.    They  will  set  him        (,Q 
Upmost,  at  the  groome-porters,  all  the  Christ- 

masse ! 
And, for  the  whole  yeere  through,  at  everie  place 
Where   there   is    play,    present    him    with   the 

chaire ; 
The  best  attendance,  the  best  drinke  ;  sometimes 
Two  glasses  of  canarie,  and  pay  nothing ;  65 

The  purest  linnen,  and  the  sharpest  knife, 
The  partrich  next  his  trencher  :  and,  somewhere, 
The  daintie  bed,  in  private,  with  the  daintie. 
You  shall  ha'  your  ordinaries  bid  for  him, 
As  play-houses  for  a  poet ;   and  the  master  70 

Pray  him,  aloud,  to  name  what  dish  he  affects, 
Which  must  be  butterd  shrimps:  and  those  that 

drinke 
To  no  mouth  else,  will  drinke  to  his,  as  being 
The  goodly,  president  mouth  of  all  the  boord. 
Kas.    Doe  you  not  gull  one  ? 
Fac.  'Od's  my  life!   Do  you  thinke  it?  75 

You  shall  have  a  cast  commander,  (can  but  get 
In  credit  with  a  glover,  or  a  spurrier, 
For  some  two  paire,  of  eithers  ware,  afore-hand) 
Will,  by  most  swift  posts,  dealing  with  him, 

60  baronie,  Q^baronry.      75   'Od's,  Q__God's. 


272  Gftje  #lct)eitti$t  [Act  III. 

Arrive  at  competent  meanes,to  keepe  himselfe,    80 
His  punke,  and  naked  boy,  in  excellent  fashion. 
And  be  admir'd  for't. 

Kas.  Will  the  Doctor  teach  this  ? 

Fac.    He  will  doe  more,  sir,  when  your  land 

is  gone, 
(As  men  of  spirit  hate  to  keepe  earth  long) 
In  a  vacation,  when  small  monie  is  stirring,         85 
And  ordinaries  suspended  till  the  tearme, 
Hee'll  shew  a  perspective,  where  on  one  side 
You  shall  behold  the  faces,  and  the  persons 
Of  all  sufficient  yong  heires,  in  towne, 
Whose  bonds  are  currant  for  commoditie ;  9° 

On  th'  other  side,  the  marchants  formes,  and 

others, 
That,  without  helpe  of  any  second  broker, 
(Who  would   expect   a   share)  will  trust  such 

parcels : 
In  the  third  square,  the  verie  street,  and  signe 
Where  the  commoditie  dwels,  and  do's  but  wait  95 
To  be  deliver'd,  be  it  pepper,  sope, 
Hops,  or  tabacco,  oat-meale,  woad,  or  cheeses. 
All  which  you  may  so  handle,  to  enjoy, 
To  your  owne  use,  and  never  stand  oblig'd. 
Kas.    V  faith  !   is  he  such  a  fellow  ? 
Fac.   Why,  Nab  here  knowes  him.  100 

And  then   for  making  matches,  for   rich  wid- 

dowes, 

92   Fi  misprints  (   before  That. 


Scene  IV.]  QT\)t  Q\t\)tmi$t  273 

Yong  gentlewomen,  heyres,  the  fortunat'st  man  ! 

Hee's  sent  too,  farre  and  neere,  all  over  Eng- 
land, 

To  have  his  counsell,  and  to  know  their  for- 
tunes. 
Kas.    Gods  will,  my  suster  shall  see  him. 

Fac.    I'll  tell  you,  sir, 

/      »       '  105 

What  he   did  tell   me  of  Nab.    It's  a  strange 

thing ! 
(By  the  way  you  must  eate  no  cheese,  Nab,  it 

breeds  melancholy : 
And  that  same  melancholy  breeds  wormes)  but 

passe  it, 
He  told   me,  honest   Nab,  here,  was  ne'er  at 

taverne, 
But  once  in  's  life. 

Dru.    Truth,  and  no  more  I  was  not.  no 

Fac.  And,  then  he  was  so  sick 

Dru.   Could  he  tell  you  that,  too  ? 
Fac.    How  should  I  know  it  ? 
Dru.    In  troth  we  had  beene  a  shooting, 
And  had  a  peece  of  fat  ram-mutton,  to  supper, 

That  lay  so  heavy  o'  my  stomack 

Fac.   And  he  has  no  head 
To  beare  any  wine ;  for,  what  with  the  noise  o' 

the  fiddlers,  115 

And  care  of  his  shop,  for  he  dares  keepe   no 
servants 


274  Stie  #lc^emt0t  [actih. 

Dru.    My  head  did  so  ake- 


Fac.    As  he  was  faine  to  be  brought  home, 
The   Doctor  told  me.    And  then,  a   good   old 
woman 

Dru.  (Yes   faith,  shee   dwells   in  Sea-coale- 
lane)  did  cure  me, 
With  sodden  ale,  and  pellitorie  o'  the  wall :         120 
Cost  me  but   two  pence.    I  had  another  sick- 

nesse, 
Was  worse  then  that. 

Fac.    I,  that  was  with  the  griefe 
Thou  took'st  for  being  sess'd  at  eighteene  pence, 
For  the  water-worke. 

Dru.    In  truth,  and  it  was  like 
T'  have  cost  me  almost  my  life. 

Fac.    Thy  haire  went  off  ?  125 

Dru.   Yes,  sir,  'twas  done  for  spight. 

Fac.    Nay,  so  sayes  the  Doctor. 

Kas.    Pray  thee,  tabacco-boy,  goe  fetch   my 
suster, 
I'll  see  this  learned  boy,  before  I  goe : 
And  so  shall  shee. 

Fac.    Sir,  he  is  busie  now : 
But,  if  you  have  a  sister  to  fetch  hether,  130 

Perhaps,  your  owne  paines  may  command  her 

sooner ; 
And  he,  by  that  time,  will  be  free. 

Kas.   I  goe.  [Exit.'] 

132  goe,  Q^goe,  Sir. 


Scene  IV.]  f&ty  &\t\)t\\\i&t  2JS 

Fac.    Drugger,  shee's  thine :    the  damaske. 
[Exit  Abel.']    (Subtle,  and  I 
Must  wrastle  for  her.)     Come  on,  Master  Dap- 
per. 
You  see,  how  I  turne  clients,  here,  away,  135 

To   give   your  cause  dispatch.      Ha'  you  per- 
form'd 
The  ceremonies  were  injoyn'd  you  ? 

Dap.    Yes,  o'  the  vinegar, 
And  the  cleane  shirt. 

Fac.   'Tis  well :   that  shirt  may  doe  you 
More  worship  then  you  thinke.    Your  aunt's  a 

fire 
But  that  shee  will  not  shew  it,  t'  have  a  sight 

on  you.  140 

Ha'  you  provided  for  her  graces  servants  ? 
Dap.   Yes,  here  are  six-score   Edward  shil- 
lings. 
Fac.   Good. 

Dap.   And  an  old  Harry's  soveraigne. 
Fac.   Very  good. 

Dap.  And  three  James  shillings,  and  an  Eliza- 
beth groat, 
Just  twentie  nobles. 

Fac.  O,  you  are  too  just.  '45 

I    would    you    had    had    the    other    noble    in 
Maries. 
Dap.    I  have  some  Philip,  and  Maries. 


276  W$t  gldjettttet  [Act  III. 

Fac.    I,  those  same 
Are  best  of  all.     Where  are  they  ?     Harke,  the 
Doctor. 

Act  III.     Scene  V. 

t-,  ~  r  ■  -1     t\   1  Subtle  disguised  like 

Face,  Dapper,  [later]  DoL  a  priest  of  Faery. 

Subtle.    Is  yet  her  graces  cossen  come  ? 

Face.    He  is  come. 

Sub.    And  is  he  fasting  ? 

Fac.    Yes. 

Sub.    And  hath  cry'd  hum? 

Fac.    Thrise,  you  must  answer. 

Dapper.    Thrise. 

Sub.   And  as  oft  buz  ? 

Fac.    If  you  have,  say. 

Dap.    I  have. 

Sub.    Then,  to  her  cuz, 
Hoping,  that  he  hath  vinegard  his  senses,  5 

As  he  was  bid,  the  Faery  Queene  dispenses, 
By  me,  this  robe,  the  petticote  of  Fortune  ; 
Which  that   he  straight  put  on,  shee  doth  im- 
portune. 
And  though  to  Fortune  neere  be  her  petticote, 
Yet,  neerer  is  her  smock,  the  queene  doth  note  :   10 
And,  therefore,  even  of  that  a  piece  shee  hath 
sent, 


Scene  V.]  Qtyt  &U\)tn\i8t  277 

Which,  being  a  child,  to  wrap  him  in,  was  rent ; 
And    prayes    him,  for  a  scarfe,    he    now    will 

weare  it 
(With    as    much   love,  as    then    her  grace  did 

teare  it) 
About  his  eyes,  to  shew,  he  is  fortunate.    They  blind  him 
And,  trusting  unto  her  to  make  his  state,  """"*  a  rag- 
Hee'll  throw  away  all  worldly  pelfe,  about  him  ; 
Which   that   he   will  performe,  shee   doth   not 
doubt  him. 
Fac.    Shee  need  not  doubt  him,  sir.      Alas, 
he  has  nothing, 
But  what  he  will  part  withall,  as  willingly,  20 

Upon  her  graces  word  (throw  away  your  purse) 
As   shee   would  aske  it :   (hand-kerchiefes,  and 

all) 
Shee  cannot  bid  that  thing,  but  hee'll  obay. 
(If  you  have  a  ring  about  you,  cast  it  off, 
Or  a  silver  seale,  at  your  wrist,  her  Hee  throwes  away, 
grace  will  send  as  thcy  hid  him- 

Her  faeries  here  to  search  you,  therefore  deale 
Directly  with  her  highnesse.    If  they  find 
That  you  conceale  a  mite,  you  are  undone.) 
Dap.   Truely,  there's  all. 
Fac.    All  what  ? 
Dap.    My  money,  truly. 
Fac.    Keepe  nothing,  that  is  transitorie,  about 
you.  3° 


278  X!tt)t  &\t\)tmi$t  [Act  III. 

(Bid  Dol   play  musique.)    Looke,  the    Dol  enters  with 
elves  are  come  a  attaje  .■  they 

To  pinch  you,  if  you  tell  not  truth.  ?"" 

Advise  you. 
Dap.  O,  I  have  a  paper  with  a  spur-ryall  in't. 
Fac.    Ti,  it; 
They  knew't,  they  say. 

Sub.    Ti,  th  ti->  tit  ne  ^as  more  yet. 

\Aside  to  Face.'] 
Fac.    Ti,  ti-ti-ti.      F  the  tother  pocket  ? 

\_Aside  to  Subtle.] 
Sub.    Titi,  titi,  titi,  titi.  35 

They  must  pinch  him,  or  he  will  never  con- 
fesse,  they  say.    [They  pinch  him  again.] 
Dap.   O,  O. 

Fac.    Nay,  'pray  you  hold.    He  is  her  graces 
nephew. 
TV,  //',  tip    What  care   you  ?    Good  faith,  you 

shall  care. 
Deale  plainely,  sir,  and  shame  the  faeries.     Shew 
You  are  an  innocent. 

Dap.    By  this  good  light,  I  ha'  nothing.  40 

Sub.    Titi,  tititota.     He  do's  equivocate,  shee 
sayes  : 
TV,  tidoti,  titido,  tida.    And  sweares  by  the  light, 
when  he  is  blinded. 
Dap.    By  this  good  darke,  I  ha'  nothing  but 
a  halfe-crowne 


Scene  V]  tyty  &lctjemt$t  279 

Of  gold,  about  my  wrist,  that  my  love  gave  me; 
And  a  leaden  heart  I  wore,  sin'  shee  forsooke  me.  45 
Fac.    I     thought,     'twas    something.       And, 
would  you  incurre 
Your  aunts  displeasure  for  these  trifles  ?    Come, 
I  had  rather  you  had  throwne  away  twentie  halfe- 
crownes.  [Takes  the  half-crown  of.~\ 

You  may  weare  your  leaden  heart  still. 

[Dol  turns    hastily  from    the   window 
where  she  has  been  scouting} 
How  now  ? 

Sub.  What  newes,  Dol  ? 

Dol.   Yonder's  your  knight,  Sir  Mammon.        50 
Fac.   Gods  lid,  we  never  thought  of  him,  till 
now. 
Where  is  he  ? 

Dol.    Here,  hard  by.    H'  is  at  the  doore. 
Sub.    And,  you  are  not  readie,  now  ?      Dol, 
get  his  suit.  [Exit  Dol.~\ 

He  must  not  be  sent  back. 
Fac.   O,  by  no  meanes. 
What  shall  we  doe  with  this  same  puffin,  here,  55 
Now  hee's  o'  the  spit  ? 

Sub.  Why,  lay  him  back  a  while, 
With  some  device. 

[Re-enter  Dol  with  Face's  clothes.] 

Ti,  titi,  tititi.   Would  her  grace  speake  with  me  ? 
I  come.      Helpe,  Dol ! 


280  Wt)t  Q\t\)tmiS>t  [Act  III. 

FaC.    Who's  there  ?    Sir  Epi-      He  speaies  through  the  key- 
Clire  *  hole,  the  other  knocking. 

My  master's  i'  the  way.      Please  you  to  walke 
Three   or   foure    turnes,   but   till   his    back   be 

turn'd,  60 

And  I  am  for  you.     Quickly,  Dol. 

Sub.    Her  grace 
Commends  her  kindly  to  you,  Master  Dapper. 

Dap.    I  long  to  see  her  grace. 

Sub.    Shee,  now,  is  set 
At    dinner,    in    her   bed ;     and    shee    has   sent 

you, 
From  her  owne  private  trencher,  a  dead  mouse,  65 
And  a  piece  of  ginger-bread,  to  be  merry  withall, 
And    stay   your   stomack,   lest   you    faint    with 

fasting : 
Yet,   if    you  could  hold  out,  till  shee  saw  you 

(shee  sayes) 
It  would  be  better  for  you. 

Fac.    Sir,  he  shall 
Hold  out,  and  'twere  this  two  houres,  for  her 

highnesse ;  ?° 

I  can  assure  you  that.    We  will  not  loose 
All  we  ha'  done. 

Sub.    He  must  not  see,  nor  speake 
To  any  body,  till  then. 

Fac.    For  that,  wee'll  put,  sir, 
A  stay  in  'is  mouth. 


Scene  V.]  X&\)t  &it\)tmi&t  28 1 

Sub.  Of  what? 
Fac.   Of  ginger  bread. 
Make    you   it   fit.      He   that   hath   pleas'd   her 

grace,  75 

Thus  farre,  shall  not  now  crinckle,  for  a  little. 
Gape  sir,  and  let  him  fit  you. 

\_They  thrust  a  gag  of  gingerbread  into 
his  mouth.] 
Sub.  Where  shall  we  now 
Bestow  him  ? 

Dol.    V  the  privie. 
Sub.   Come  along,  sir, 
I  now  must  shew  you  Fortunes  privy  lodgings. 
Fac.    Are  they  perfum'd  ?   and  his  bath  readie  ?   80 
Sub.   All. 
Onely  the  fumigation's  somewhat  strong. 

Fac.     [speaking  through  the  key-hole.]    Sir  Epi- 
cure, I  am  yours,  sir,  by  and  by. 

[Exeunt  with  Dapper.] 


Act  IV.     Scene  I. 
[Enter]  Face,  Mammon,  [later]  Dol. 

[Face.]    O,  sir,  yo'  are  come  i'  the  onely, 
finest  time 

Matnmon.   Where's  master  ? 

Fac.    Now  preparing  for  projection,  sir. 
Your  stuffe  will  b'  all  chang'd  shortly. 

Mam.    Into  gold  ? 

Fac.    To  gold,  and  silver,  sir. 

Mam.    Silver,  I  care  not  for. 

Fac.    Yes,  sir,  a  little  to  give  beggars. 

Mam.   Where's  the  Lady?  5 

Fac.   At   hand,  here.     I   ha'  told   her    such 
brave  things,  o'  you, 
Touching  your  bountie  and  your  noble  spirit 

Mam.    Hast  thou  ? 

Fac.  As  shee  is  almost  in  her  fit  to  see 
you. 
But,  good  sir,  no  divinitie  i'  your  conference, 
For  feare  of  putting  her  in  rage 

Mam.    I  warrant  thee.  10 

Fac.    Sixe   men    will    not    hold    her  downe. 
And,  then 
If  the  old  man  should  heare,  or  see  you 

Mam.    Feare  not. 

6  o'you,  Q  on  you. 


Scene  I.]  Qfyt  Qlt\)tmi#t  283 

Fac.    The  very  house,  sir,  would  runne  mad. 
You  know  it 
How  scrupulous  he  is,  and  violent, 
'Gainst  the  least  act  of  sinne.    Physick,  or  ma- 

thematiques,  15 

Poetrie,  state,  or  bawdry  (as  I  told  you) 
Shee  will  endure,  and  never  startle  :  but 
No  word  of  controversie. 

Mam.    I  am  school'd,  good  lUctt. 
Fac.   And  you  must  praise  her  house,  remem- 
ber that, 
And  her  nobilitie. 

Mam.    Let  me  alone  :  20 

No  herald,  no  nor  antiquarie,  Lungs, 
Shall  doe  it  better.    Goe. 
Fac.    Why,  this  is  yet 
A  kind  of  moderne  happinesse  to  have 
Dol  Common  for  a  great  Lady. 

[Aside,  and  exit.] 
Mam.    Now,  Epicure, 
Heighten  thy  selfe,  talke  to  her,  all  in  gold;  25 

Raine  her  as  many  showers,  as  Jove  did  drops 
Unto  his  Danae  :   shew  the  god  a  miser, 
Compar'd  with  Mammon.     What  ?   the  stone 

will  do't. 
Shee  shall  feele  gold,tast  gold,  heare  gold,  sleepe 
gold: 

18    U/en,  Q  Lungs. 

20  Lee  me  alone,  F  and  Q  place  a  comma  after  me. 


284  Wfyt  #kt)emtet  [act  iv. 

Nay,  we  will  concumbere  gold.    I  will  be  puis- 
sant, so 
And  mightie  in  my  talke  to  her ! 

[Re-enter  Face,  with  Dol  richly  dressed.~\ 

Here  shee  comes. 

Fac.  To  him,  Dol,  suckle  him.    This  is  the 
noble  knight, 

I  told  your  Ladiship 

Mam.    Madame,  with  your  pardon, 
I  kisse  your  vesture. 

Dol.    Sir,  I  were  un-civill 
If  I  would  suffer  that,  my  lip  to  you,  sir.  35 

Mam.    I  hope  my  Lord  your  brother  be  in 

health,  Lady. 
Dol.    My  Lord,  my  brother  is,  though   I   no 

Ladie,  sir. 
Fac.    (Well  said  my  guiny-bird.) 

Mam.   Right  noble  Madame 

Fac.  (O,  we  shall  have  most  fierce  idolatrie  !) 
Mam.   'Tis  your  prerogative. 
Dol.    Rather  your  courtesie.  40 

Mam.   Were  there  naught  else  t'  inlarge  your 
vertues,  to  me, 
These  answeres  speake  your  breeding,  and  your 
bloud. 
Dol.    Bloud  we  boast  none,  sir,  a  poore  bar- 
on's daughter. 


Scene  I.]  f&ty  &kl)nUtet  285 

Mam.    Poore  !  and  gat  you  ?     Prophane  not. 
Had  your  father 
Slept  all  the  happy  remnant  of  his  life  45 

After  that  act,  lyen  but  there  still,  and  panted, 
H'  had  done  inough,  to  make  himselfe,  his  issue, 
And  his  posteritie  noble. 

Dol.    Sir,  although 
We  may  be  said  to  want  the  guilt,  and  trap- 
pings, 
The  dresse  of  honor ;  yet  we  strive  to  keepe        50 
The  seedes,  and  the  materialls. 

Mam.    I  doe  see 
The  old  ingredient,  vertue,  was  not  lost, 
Nor  the  drug, money,  us'd  to  make  your  com- 
pound. 
There  is  a  strange  nobilitie,  i'  your  eye, 
This   lip,  that  chin  !      Me  thinks  you  doe  re- 
semble 55 
One  o'  the  Austriack  princes. 

Fac.    [aside].    Very  like, 
Her  father  was  an  Irish  costar-monger. 

Mam.    The  house  of  Valois,  just,  had   such 
a  nose. 
And  such  a  fore-head,  yet,  the  Medici 
Of  Florence  boast. 

Dol.  Troth,  and  I  have  beene  lik'ned  60 

To  all  these  princes. 
Fac.     [aside].    I'll  be  sworne,  I  heard  it. 

53   drug,  money.    Fi  and  F2  omit  the  comma. 


286  X&ty  &lt\)tmi$t  [Act  IV. 

Mam.    I  know  not  how !     It  is  not  any  one, 
But  e'en  the  very  choise  of  all  their  features. 

Fac.    I'll  in,  and  laugh.       \_Aside,  and  exit.'] 

Mam.    A  certaine  touch,  or  aire, 
That  sparkles  a  divinitie,  beyond  65 

An  earthly  beautie  ! 

Dol.    O,  you  play  the  courtier. 

Mam.   Good  Lady,  gi'  me  leave 

Dol.    In  faith,  I  may  not, 
To  mock  me,  sir. 

Mam.  To  burne  i'  the  sweet  flame  : 
The  phoenix  never  knew  a  nobler  death. 

Dol.    Nay,  now  you  court  the  courtier :  and 

destroy  7° 

What  you  would  build.     This  art,  sir,  i'  your 

words, 
Calls  your  whole  faith  in  question. 

Mam.    By  my  soule 

Dol.    Nay,  oathes  are  made  o'  the  same  aire, 
sir. 

Mam.    Nature 
Never  bestow'd  upon  mortalitie, 
A  more  unblam'd,  a  more  harmonious  feature :    75 
Shee  play'd  the  stcp-dame  in  all  faces,  else. 
Sweet  madame,  le'  me  be  particular 

Dol.    Particular,  sir  ?    I  pray  you,  know  your 
distance. 

Mam.    In  no  ill  sense,  sweet  Lady,  but  to  aske 


Scene  I.]  t&ty  #lct)nniSt  287 

How  your  faire  graces  passe  the  houres  ?    I  see  80 
Yo'are  lodged,  here,  i'  the  house  of  a  rare  man, 
An  excellent  artist :   but,  what's  that  to  you  ? 

Dol.  Yes,  sir.   I  studie  here  the  mathematiques, 
And  distillation. 

Mam.   O,  I  crie  your  pardon. 
H'  is  a  divine  instructer  !   can  extract  85 

The  soules  of  all  things,  by  his  art ;  call  all 
The  vertues,  and  the  miracles  of  the  sunne, 
Into  a  temperate  fornace  :  teach  dull  nature 
What  her  owne  forces  are.     A  man,  the  emp'- 

rour 
Has  courted,  above  Kelley  :  sent  his  medalls,      90 
And  chaines,  t'  invite  him. 

Dol.    I,  and  for  his  physick,  sir 

Mam.  Above  the  art  of  iEsculapius, 
That  drew  the  envy  of  the  Thunderer  ! 
I  know  all  this,  and  more. 

Dol.  Troth,  I  am  taken,  sir, 
Whole,   with   these    studies,  that    contemplate 

nature :  95 

Mam.    It  is  a  noble  humour.    But  this  forme 
Was  not  intended  to  so  darke  a  use ! 
Had  you  beene  crooked,  foule,  of  some  course 

mould, 
A  cloyster  had  done  well :   but,  such  a  feature, 
That  might  stand  up  the  glorie  of  a  kingdome,  100 
To  live  recluse  !  is  a  mere  solaecisme, 


288  Wfyt  gltljettttSt  [Act  IV. 

Though  in  a  nunnery.     It  must  not  be. 
I  muse,  my  Lord  your  brother  will  permit  it ! 
You  should  spend  halfe  my  land  first,  were  I  hee. 
Do's  not  this  diamant  better,  on  my  finger, 
Then  i'  the  quarrie?  105 

Dol.  Yes. 

Mam.  Why,  you  are  like  it. 
You  were  created,  Lady,  for  the  light ! 
Heare,  you   shall  weare   it ;    take   it,  the  first 

pledge 
Of  what  I  speake  :  to  binde  you,  to  beleeve  me. 

Dol.    In  chaines  of  adamant  ? 

Mam.  Yes,  the  strongest  bands. 
And  take  a  secret,  too.    Here,  by  your  side,         no 
Doth    stand,  this   houre,  the   happiest  man,  in 
Europe. 

Dol.  You  are  contented,  sir? 

Mam.    Nay,  in  true  being  : 
The  envy  of  princes,  and  the  feare  of  states. 

Dol.    Say  you  so,  Sir  Epicure  ! 

Mam.  Yes,  and  thou  shalt  prove  it, 
Daughter  of  honor.    I  have  cast  mine  eye  "5 

Upon  thy  forme,  and  I  will  reare  this  beautie, 
Above  all  stiles. 

Dol.  You  meane  no  treason,  sir ! 

Mam.    No,  I  will  take  away  that  jealousie. 
I  am  the  Lord  of  the  philosophers  stone, 
And  thou  the  Lady.  120 

107  Q  omits  the.  ill   in,  Q  of. 


Scene  I.]  ^\)t  #lct)Cmt0t  289 

Do/.    How  sir !      Ha'  you  that  ? 
Mam.    I  am  the  master  of  the  maistrie. 
This  day,  the  good  old  wretch,  here,  o'  the  house 
Has  made  it  for  us.    Now,  hee's  at  projection. 
Thinke  therefore,  thy  first  wish,  now ;   let  me 

heare  it :  125 

And  it  shall  raine  into  thy  lap,  no  shower, 
But  flouds  of  gold,  whole  cataracts,  a  deluge, 
To  get  a  nation  on  thee ! 

Do/.  You  are  pleas'd,  sir, 
To  worke  on  the  ambition  of  our  sexe. 

Mam.    V  am  pleas'd,  the  glorie  of  her  sexe 

should  know,  130 

This  nooke,  here,  of  the  Friers,  is  no  climate 
For  her,  to  live  obscurely  in,  to  learne 
Physick,  and  surgery,  for  the  constables  wife 
Of  some  odde  hundred  in  Essex  ;  but  come  forth, 
And  tast  the  aire  of  palaces  ;  eate,  drinke  135 

The    toyles    of   emp'ricks,   and    their    boasted 

practice  ; 
Tincture  of  pearle,  and  corrall,  gold,  and  amber ; 
Be  seene  at  feasts,  and  triumphs ;  have  it  ask'd, 
What  miracle  shee  is  ?    Set  all  the  eyes 
Of  court  a-fire,  like  a  burning  glasse,  I40 

And  worke  'hem  into  cinders  ;  when  the  Jewells 
Of  twentie  states  adorne  thee  ;  and  the  light 
Strikes  out  the  starres ;   that,  when  thy  name  is 

mention'd, 


290  tEtje  #lct)emi0t  [act  iv. 

Queenes  may  looke  pale :  and  we  but  shewing 

our  love, 
Nero's  Poppaea  may  be  lost  in  storie  !  145 

Thus,  will  we  have  it. 

Dol.    I  could  well  consent,  sir. 
But,  in  a  monarchy,  how  will  this  be  ? 
The  prince  will  soone  take  notice  ;   and  both 

seize 
You,  and  your  stone :  it  being  a  wealth  unfit 
For  any  private  subject. 

Mam.    If  he  knew  it.  I5o 

Dol.  Your  selfe  doe  boast  it,  sir. 

Mam.    To  thee,  my  life. 

Dol.   O,  but   beware,  sir !    You    may  come 
to  end 
The  remnant  of  your  daies,  in  a  loath'd  prison, 
By  speaking  of  it. 

Mam.    'Tis  no  idle  feare  ! 
Wee'll  therefore  goe  with  all,  my  girle,  and  live  155 
In  a  free  state ;  where  we  will  eate  our  mullets, 
Sous'd  in   high-countrey  wines,    sup    phesants 

egges, 
And  have  our  cockles,  boild  in  silver  shells, 
Our  shrimps  to  swim  againe,  as  when  they  liv'd, 
In  a  rare  butter,  made  of  dolphins  milke,  160 

Whose  creame  do's  looke  like  opalls  :   and,  with 

these 
Delicate  meats,  set  our  selves  high  for  pleasure, 


Scene  I.]  Wfyt  &\t\)tXili&t  291 

And  take  us  downe  againe,  and  then  renew 
Our    youth,  and   strength,  with    drinking    the 

elixir, 
And  so  enjoy  a  perpetuitie  165 

Of  life,  and  lust.    And,  thou  shalt  ha'  thy  ward- 
robe, 
Richer  then  natures,  still,  to  change  thy  selfe, 
And  vary  oftner,  for  thy  pride,  then  shee  : 
Or  art,  her  wise,  and  almost-equall  servant. 

[Re-enter  Face.] 

Fac.    Sir,  you  are  too  loud.      I    heare  you, 

every  word,  170 

Into  the  laboratory.    Some  fitter  place. 
The  garden,   or  great   chamber  above.      How 
like  you  her  ? 
Mam.    Excellent !  Lungs.     There's  for  thee. 

[Gives  him  money. ,] 
Fac.    But  doe  you  heare  ? 
Good  sir,  beware,  no  mention  of  the  rabbines. 
Mam.  We  thinke  not  on  'hem. 
Fac.   O,  it  is  well,  sir.     [Exeunt  Mammon  and 
Do/.]     Subtle!  175 

171   laboratory,  Fl  and  F2  labaratory. 


292  W$t  #Ul)ntti0t  [Act  IV. 

Act   IV.     Scene  II. 
Face ;  [enter]  Subtle,  [later]  Kastril,  Dame  Pliant. 

[Face.]    Dost  thou  not  laugh  ? 

Subtle.  Yes.    Are  they  gone  ? 

Fac.  All's  cleare. 

Sub.    The  widdow  is  come. 

Fac.   And  your  quarrelling  disciple  ? 

Sub.    I. 

Fac.   I  must  to  my  captaine-ship  againe,  then. 

Sub.    Stay,  bring  'hem  in,  first. 

Fac.    So  I  meant.    What  is  shee  ? 
A  bony-bell  ? 

Sub.    I  know  not. 

Fac.  Wee'll  draw  lots, 
You'll  stand  to  that  ? 

Sub.  What  else  ? 

Fac.   O,  for  a  suite, 
To  fall  now,  like  a  cortine  :   flap. 

Sub.    To  th'  dore,  man. 

Fac.  You'll  ha'  the  first  kisse,  'cause   I  am 
not  readie.  [Face  goes  to  the  door.] 

Sub.  Yes,  and  perhaps  hit  you  through  both 
the  nostrils. 

Fac.    [at  the   door.]    Who  would  you  speak 
with  ? 

Kastril.  Wher's  the  Captaine  ? 


Scene  II.]  Xfrty  #Ut)emi0t  293 

Fac.   Gone,  sir.  I0 

About  some  businesse. 

Kas.   Gone  ? 

Fac.    Hee'll  returne  straight. 
But  Master  Doctor,  his  lieutenant,  is  here. 

[ Enter  Kastril,  followed  by  Dame  Pliant. ~\ 

Sub.   Come  neere,   my  worshipfull  boy,  my 
terra  fill, 
That  is,  my  boy  of  land  ;   make  thy  approches  : 
Welcome,  I  know  thy  lusts,  and  thy  desires,        15 
And  I  will  serve,  and  satisfie  'hem.    Beginne, 
Charge  me  from  thence,  or  thence,  or  in  this 

line ; 
Here  is  my  center  :  ground  thy  quarrell. 
Kas.   You  lie. 

Sub.    How,  child  of  wrath,  and  anger  !    the 
loud  lie  ? 
For  what,  my  sodaine  boy  ? 

Kas.    Nay,  that  looke  you  too,  20 

I  am  afore-hand. 

Sub.   O,  this's  no  true  grammar, 
And  as  ill  logick  !     You  must   render   causes, 

child, 
Your  first,  and   second  intentions,  know  your 

canons, 
And  your  divisions,  moodes,  degrees,  and  differ- 
ences, 


294  tEfie  #lctwntet  [act  iv. 

Your  praedicaments,  substance,  and  accident,        25 
Series  externe,  and  interne,  with  their  causes 
Efficient,  materiall,  formall,  finall, 
And  ha'  your  elements  perfect 

Kas.   What  is  this  ! 
The  angrie  tongue  he  talkes  in  ? 

Sub.    That  false  precept, 
Of  being  afore-hand,  has  deceiv'd  a  number         30 
And  made  'hem  enter  quarrels,  often-times 
Before  they  were  aware  :   and,  afterward, 
Against  their  wills. 

Kas.    How  must  I  doe  then,  sir  ? 

Sub.    I  crie  this  Lady  mercy.      Shee  should, 
first, 
Have  beene  saluted.    I  doe  call  you  Lady,  35 

Because  you  are  to  be  one,  ere  't  be  long, 
My  soft,  and  buxome  widdow.  He  kisses  her. 

Kas.    Is  she,  i-faith  ? 

Sub.  Yes,  or  my  art  is  an  egregious  lyar. 

Kas.    How  know  you  ? 

Sub.    By  inspection,  on  her  fore-head, 
And  subtletie  of  her  lip,  which  must  be  tasted     4° 
Often,  to  make  judgement.      'Slight,  shee   He  kisses 

melts  her  aSaine- 

Like  a  myrobolane  !    Here  is,  yet,  a  line, 
In  vivo  frontis,  tells  me,  he  is  no  knight. 

Pliant.   What  is  he  then,  sir  ? 

Sub.    Let  me  see  your  hand. 


Scene  II.]  1&\)t  glcljemt0t  295 

O,  your  line  a  fortunes  makes  it  plaine  ;  45 

And  Stella,  here,  in  rnonte  Veneris : 
But,  most  of  all,  junctura  annularis. 
He  is  a  souldier,  or  a  man  of  art,  Lady : 
But  shall  have  some  great  honour,  shortly. 

PH.    Brother, 
Hee's  a  rare  man,  beleeve  me  ! 

Kas.    Hold  your  peace.  5° 

[Re-enter  Face  in  his  uniform.] 

Here  comes  the  tother  rare   man.     'Save  you 
Captaine. 
Fac.  Good    Master    Kastril.      Is  this    your 

sister  ?  ' 

Kas.    I,  sir. 
Please  you  to  kusse  her,  and  be  proud  to  know 
her, 
Fac.    I  shall  be  proud  to  know  you,  Ladie. 

[Kisses  her.] 
PH.    Brother, 
He  calls  me  Ladie,  too. 

Kas.    I,  peace.    I  heard  it.  55 

Fac.    The  count  is  come. 
Sub.  'Where  is  he  ? 
Fac.   At  the  dore. 

Sub.  Why,  you  must  entertaine  him. 
Fac.  What'll  you  doe 
With  these  the  while  ? 


296  W$z  &k\)tmi&t  [act  rv. 

Sub.  Why,  have  'hem  up,  and  shew  'hem 
Some  fustian  booke,  or  the  darke  glasse. 

Fac.   'Fore  God, 
Shee  is  a  delicate  dab-chick  !    I  must  have  her.     60 

[Exit  Face.~\ 
Sub.    Must  you  ?    I,  if  your  fortune  will,  you 
must. 
Come,  sir,  the  Captaine  will  come  to  us  pre- 
sently, 
I'll  ha'  you  to  my  chamber  of  demonstrations, 
Where  I'll  shew  you  both   the  grammar,  and 

logick, 
And  rhetorick  of  quarrelling  ;  my  whole  method,  65 
Drawne  out  in  tables  :   and  my  instrument, 
That  hath  severall  scale  upon't,  shall  make  you 
Able  to  quarrell,  at  a  strawes  breadth,  by  moone- 

light. 
And,  Lady,  I'll  have  you  looke  in  a  glasse, 
Some  halfe  an  houre,  but  to  cleare  your  eye- 
sight, 7o 
Against  you  see  your  fortune  :   which  is  greater, 
Then  I  may  judge  upon  the  sodaine,  trust  me. 
[Exit,  followed  by  Kastril  and  Dame 
Pliant .] 


Scene  III.]  W$t  &Ut)Cmtfl(t  297 

Act  IV.     Scene  III. 
Face,  Subtle,  Surly. 

[Face.]    Where  are  you,  Doctor  ? 
Subtle    [within] .    I'll  come  to  you  presently. 
Fac.    I  will  ha'  this  same  widdow,  now  I  ha' 
seene  her, 
On  any  composition. 

[Enter  Subtle.'] 

Sub.   What  doe  you  say  ? 

Fac.    Ha'  you  dispos'd  of  them  ? 

Sub.    I  ha'  sent  'hem  up. 

Fac.    Subtle,  in  troth,  I  needs  must  have  this 

widdow.  5 

Sub.    Is  that  the  matter  ? 

Fac.    Nay,  but  heare  me. 

Sub.    Goe  to, 
If  you  rebell  once,  Dol  shall  know  it  all. 
Therefore,  be  quiet,  and  obey  your  chance. 

Fac.    Nay,   thou  art   so   violent   now — Doe 
but  conceive  : 
Thou  art  old,  and  canst  not  serve 

Sub.  Who,  cannot  I  ?  i° 

'Slight,  I  will  serve  her  with  thee,  for  a 

Fac.    Nay, 
But  understand  :   I'll  gi'  you  composition. 

II    'Slight.      QJSblood. 


298  Qtt)t  Qk\)tmi$t  [act  iv. 

Sub.    I  will  not  treat  with  thee :  what,  sell 
my  fortune  ? 
'Tis  better  then  my  birth-right.    Doe  not  mur- 

mure. 
Winne  her,  and  carrie  her.    If  you  grumble,  Dol  15 
Knowes  it  directly. 

Fac.   Well  sir,  I  am  silent. 
Will  you  goe  helpe,  to  fetch  in  Don,  in  state  ? 
Sub.    I   follow  you,  sir:   \exit  Face]  we  must 
keepe  Face  in  awe, 
Or  he  will  over-looke  us  like  a  ty- 

ranne. 
Braine  of  a  taylor  !      Who  comes       l>Tf  f™ 

y  .  ivxth\  Surly  like 

here?      Donjon!  a  Spaniard.     20 

Sur.    Sennores,  beso  las  manos,  a  vuestras  mer- 

cedes. 
Sub.  Would   you   had   stoup'd    a  little,   and 

kist  our  anos. 
Fac.    Peace,  Subtle. 

Sub.    Stab  me ;   I  shall  never  hold,  man. 
He  lookes  in  that  deepe  ruffe,  like  a  head  in  a 

platter, 
Serv'd  in  by  a  short  cloake  upon  two  tressils  !       25 
Fac.  Or,  what   doe  you   say   to   a  collar  of 

brawne,  cut  downe 
Beneath  the  souse,  and  wriggled  with  a  knife  ? 
Sub.    'Slud,   he  do's    looke   too   fat    to  be   a 

Spaniard. 


Scene  III]  ^0  £UcfyCmt0t  299 

/#<:.    Perhaps  some  Fleming,  or  some   Hol- 
lander got  him 
In  D'Alva's  time  :   Count  Egmonts  bastard. 

Sub.    Don,  30 

Your  scirvy,  yellow,  Madrid  face  is  welcome. 

Sur.    Gratia. 

Sub.    He  speakes,  out  of  a  fortification. 
'Pray  God,  he  ha'  no  squibs  in  those  deepe  sets. 

Sur.    Por  dios,  sennores,  muy  linda  casa  ! 

Sub.   What  sayes  he  ? 

Fac.    Praises  the  house,  I  thinke,  35 

I  know  no  more  but 's  action. 

Sub.  Yes,  the  casa, 

My  precious  Diego,  will  prove  faire  inough, 
To  cossen  you  in.    Doe  you  marke  ?    You  shall 
Be  cossened,  Diego. 

Fac.   Cossened,  doe  you  see  ? 
My  worthy  Donzel,  cossened. 

Sur.    Entiendo.  40 

Sub.    Doe  you   intend  it  ?     So  doe  we,  deare 
Don. 
Have  you  brought  pistolets  ?  or  portagues  ?  Hefeeks 
My  solemne  Don  ?     Dost  thou  feele  any  ?  *«  pockets. 

Fac.    Full. 

Sub.  You    shall  be  emptied,  Don ;    pumped, 
and  drawne, 
Drie,  as  they  say. 

Fac.    Milked,  in  troth,  sweet  Don.  45 

31   Madrid,  Q_Madril. 


300  (Etje  #lct)emi£t  [act  iv. 

Sub.    See  all  the  monsters;  the  great  lyon  of 
all,  Don. 

Sur.    Con  licencia,  se  puede  ver  a  esta  sennora  ? 

Sub.  What  tallces  he  now  ? 

Fac.   O'  the  sennora. 

Sub.   O,  Don, 
That  is  the  lyonesse,  which  you  shall  see 
Also,  my  Don. 

Fac.  'Slid,  Subtle,  how  shall  we  doe  ?  50 

Sub.    For  what  ? 

Fac.   Why  Dol's  emploi'd,  you  know. 

Sub.  That's  true ! 
'Fore  heav'n  I  know  not :   he  must  stay,  that's 
all. 

Fac.    Stay  ?    That  he  must  not  by  no  meanes. 

Sub.    No,  why  ? 

Fac.   Unlesse  you'll  marre  all.    'Slight,  hee'll 
suspect  it. 
And  then  he  will  not  pay,  not  halfe  so  well.         55 
This    is    a    travell'd    punque-master,   and    do's 

know 
All  the  delayes  :   a  notable  hot  raskall, 
And  lookes,  already,  rampant. 

Sub.  'Sdeath,  and  Mammon 
Must  not  be  troubled. 

Fac.   Mammon,  in  no  case  ! 

Sub.   What  shall  we  doe  then  ? 

47  Sennora,  F  and  (,)  read  sennora. 


Scene  III.]  Qfl)t  8lt\)tmi8t  301 

Fac.  Thinke :  you  must  be  sodaine.  60 

Sur.   Entiendo,  que  la  sennora  es  tan  hermosa, 

que  codicio  tan  a  verla,  como  la  bien  aventuranfa 

de  mi  vida. 

Fac.    Mi  vida  ?     'Slid,  Subtle,  he  puts  me  in 
minde  o'  the  widow. 

What  dost  thou  say  to  draw  her  to't  ?      Ha  ? 

And  tell  her,  it  is  her  fortune.    All  our  venter      65 

Now  lies  upon't.    It  is  but  one  man  more, 

Which  on  's  chance  to  have  her :  and,  beside, 

There  is  no  maiden-head,  to  be  fear'd,  or  lost. 

What  dost  thou  thinke  on't,  Subtle  ? 

Sub.  Who,  I  ?     Why 

Fac.  The  credit  of  our  house  too  is  engag'd.  7° 
Sub.  You    made   me   an   offer   for  my  share 
e're  while. 

What  wilt  thou  gi'  me,  i-faith  ? 
Fac.   O,  by  that  light, 

He  not  buy  now.    You  know  your  doome  to  me. 

E'en    take    your    lot,   obey    your    chance,   sir; 
winne  her, 

And  weare  her,  out  for  me. 

Sub.    'Slight.    I'll  not  worke  her  then.  75 

Fac.    It  is  the  common  cause,  therefore  be- 
thinke  you. 

Dol  else  must  know  it,  as  you  said. 

62  verla  .  .  .  a-venturan$a,  F  and  Q  read  ver  la  ;  and  crventu- 
rdn$a. 


302  W$t  #lcl)emt0t  [act  iv. 

Sub.    I  care  not. 

Sur.    Sennores,  porque  se  tarda  tanta  ? 

Sub.    Faith,  I  am  not  fit,  I  am  old. 

Fac.  That's  now  no  reason,  sir. 

Sur.    Puede  ser,  de  bazer  bur  la  de  mi  amor.  80 

Fac.  You  heare  the  Don,  too?     By  this  ayre, 
I  call. 
And  loose  the  hinges,  \he  calls]  Dol. 

Sub.    A  plague  of  hell 

Fac.   Will  you  then  doe  ? 

Sub.  Yo'  are  a  terrible  rogue, 
He  thinke  of  this  :  will  you,  sir,  call  the  widow  ? 

Fac.  Yes,  and  He  take  her  too,  with  all  her 
faults,  85 

Now  I  doe  thinke  on't  better. 

Sub.   With  all  my  heart,  sir, 
Am  I  discharg'd  o'  the  lot  ? 

Fac.    As  you  please. 

Sub.    Hands.  \Tbey  shake  bands.] 

Fac.    Remember  now,  that  upon  any  change, 
You  never  claime  her. 

Sub.    Much  good  joy,  and  health  to  you,  sir. 
Marry  a  whore  ?     Fate,  let  me  wed   a  witch 

first.  90 

Sur.    Por  estas  bonradas  barbas 

Sub.    He  swearcs  by  his  beard. 
Dispatch,  and  call  the  brother  too.  [Exit  Face.] 

78  tanta,  Qjanta.  86   Sir,  Fi  and  F2  comma  ;   Q  period. 

91    honradas,  F  and  Q  honrada's. 


Scene  IV.]  ^\)t  QUtytmtit  3°3 

Sur.     Tengo  duda,  sennores, 
£hie  no  me  hagan  alguna  traycion. 

Sub.    How,  issue  on  ?      Yes,  prasto  sennor. 
Please  you 
Enthratba  the  chambratha,  worthy  Don  ;  95 

Where  if  it  please  the  Fates,  in  your  bathada, 
You  shall  be  sok'd,  and  strok'd,  and  tub'd,  and 

rub'd  : 
And  scrub'd,  and  fub'd,  deare  Don,  before  you 

goe. 
You  shall,  in  faith,  my  scirvie  babioun  Don  : 
Be  curried,  claw'd,  and  flaw'd,  and  taw'd,  in- 
deed. I00 
I  will  the  heartilier  goe  about  it  now, 
And   make   the  widdow  a  punke,  so  much  the 

sooner, 
To  be  reveng'd  on  this  impetuous  Face  : 
The  quickly  doing  of  it  is  the  grace. 

\Exeunt  Subtle  and  Surly.] 

Act  IV.     Scene  IV. 

[Enter]  Face,   Kastril,   Da  [me]    Pliant,  [later] 
Subtle,  Surly. 

[Face.]    Come  Ladie:  I  knew,  the  Doctor 
would  not  leave, 
Till  he  had  found  the  very  nick  of  her  fortune. 

93  Tengo  duda,  F  and  Q  Tiengo  duda. 


304  W$Z  &lt\)tmi&t  [Act  IV. 

Kastril.    To  be  a  countesse,  say  you  ? 

Fac.    A  Spanish  countesse,  sir. 

Pliant.  Why  ?   is  that  better  then  an  English 

countesse  ? 
Fac.    Better  ?     'Slight,  make  you  that  a  ques- 
tion, ladie  ?  5 
Kas.    Nay,  shee    is   a   foole,  Captaine,   you 

must  pardon  her. 
Fac.  Aske  from  your  courtier,  to  your  Innes 
of  Court-man, 
To  your  mere  millaner  :  they  will  tell  you  all, 
Your  Spanish  jennet  is  the  best  horse.    Your 

Spanish 
Stoupe  is  the  best  garbe.    Your  Spanish  beard       10 
Is  the  best  cut.    Your  Spanish  ruffes  are  the  best 
Weare.    Your  Spanish  pavin  the  best  daunce. 
Your  Spanish  titillation  in  a  glove 
The  best  perfume.    And,  for  your  Spanish  pike, 
And   Spanish    blade,  let    your  poore   Captaine 

speake.  15 

Here  comes  the  Doctor. 

\_Enter  Subtle,  with  a  paper. ,] 

Subtle.    My  most  honor'd  Ladie, 
(For  so  I  am  now  to  stile  you,  having  found 
By  this  my  scheme,  you  are  to  under-goe 
An  honorable  fortune,  very  shortly.) 
What  will  you  say  now,  if  some 

3   Fi  and  F2  omit  Fac. 


Scene  IV.]  {EI)C  g\t\)ttlli*t  305 

Fac.    I  ha'  told  her  all,  sir.  20 

And   her   right  worshipfull   brother,  here,   that 

shee  shall  be, 
A  countesse  :   doe  not  delay  'hem,  sir.    A  Span- 
ish countesse. 
Sub.    Still,  my  scarce  worshipfull   Captaine, 
you  can  keepe 
No  secret.    Well,  since  he  has  told  you,  Ma- 
dame, 
Doe  you  forgive  him,  and  I  doe. 

Kas.    Shee  shall  doe  that,  sir.  25 

I'le  looke  to't,  'tis  my  charge. 

Sub.  Well  then.    Nought  rests 
But  that  shee  fit  her  love,  now,  to  her  fortune. 
Pli.    Truely,  I  shall  never  brooke  a  Spaniard. 
Sub.  No? 

Pli.    Never,  sin'  eighty-eight  could    I  abide 
'hem, 
And  that  was    some   three   yeere  afore   I   was 

borne,  in  truth.  30 

Sub.    Come,    you     must    love    him,    or    be 
miserable  : 
Choose,  which  you  will. 

Fac.    By  this  good  rush,  perswade  her, 
Shee  will    crie   straw-berries    else,  within    this 
twelve-month. 
Sub.    Nay,    shads,    and    mackrell,  which    is 
worse. 


306  W$z  &k\)tmi8t  [act  iv. 

Fac.    Indeed,  sir  ? 

Kas.    Gods   lid,   you   shall  love  him,  or  He 
kick  you. 

Pti.    Why?  35 

He  doe  as  you  will  ha'  me,  brother. 

Kas.    Doe, 
Or  by  this  hand,  I'll  maull  you. 

Fac.    Nay,  good  sir, 
Be  not  so  fierce. 

Sub.    No,  my  enraged  child, 
Shee  will  be  rul'd.    What,  when  shee  comes  to 

tast 
The  pleasures  of  a  countesse  !  to  be  courted 40 

Fac.   And  kist,  and  ruffled  ! 

Sub.    I,  behind  the  hangings. 

Fac.  And  then  come  forth  in  pompe  ! 

Sub.  And  know  her  state  ! 

Fac.   Of  keeping  all  th'  idolaters  o' the  chamber 
Barer  to  her,  then  at  their  prayers ! 

Sub.    Is  serv'd 
Upon  the  knee  ! 

Fac.   And  has  her  pages,  huishers,  45 

Foot-men,  and  coaches 

Sub.    Her  sixe  mares 

Fac.    Nay,  eight  ! 

Sub.    To  hurry  her  through  London,  to  th' 
Exchange, 
Bet'lem,  the  China-houses 

45    Huishers,  F2  ushers. 


S° 


Scene  IV.]  tZTljC  &\c\)tmi&t  Z°7 

Fac.  Yes,  and  have 
The  citizens  gape  at  her,  and  praise  her  tyres ! 
And  my-lords  goose-turd  bands,  that  rides  with 
her! 

Kas.    Most  brave !      By  this   hand,  you  are 
not  my  suster, 
If  you  refuse. 

Pli.    I  will  not  refuse,  brother. 
\Enter  Surly.! 

Surly.    6)ue  es  esto,  sennores,  que  non  se  venga  ? 
Esta  tardanza  me  ?nata  ! 

Fac.    It  is  the  Count  come  ! 
The  Doctor  knew  he  would  be  here,  by  his  art.     55 

Sub.    En  gallanta    madama,  Don  !    gallantis- 
sima  ! 

Sur.    Por  todos  los  dioses,  la  mas  acabada 
Hermosura,  que  he  visto  en  mi  vida  ! 

Fac.    Is't  not  a  gallant  language,  that   they 
speake  ? 

Kas.  An  admirable  language!   Is't  not  French?   60 

Fac.    No,  Spanish,  sir. 

Kas.   It  goes  like  law-French. 
And  that,  they  say,  is  the  court-liest  language. 

Fac.    List,  sir. 

Sur.    El  sol  ha  perdido  su  lumbre,  con  el 
Resplandor,  que  trae  esta  dama.     Valgame  dios  ! 

57   todos.      F  and  Q^toJos.      58    Hermosura.      Q^_Hermosura. 
63    Valgame.      F  and  Q^Valga  me. 


308  W$t  #lctjnittgt  [Act  IV. 

Fac.    He'  admires  your  sister. 

Kas.    Must  not  shee  make  curtsie  ?  65 

Sub.  'Ods  will,  shee  must  goe  to  him,  man  ; 
and  kisse  him  ! 
It  is  the  Spanish  fashion,  for  the  women 
To  make  first  court. 

Fac.  'Tis  true  he  tells  you,  sir  : 
His  art  knowes  all. 

Sur.    For  que  no  se  acude  ? 

Kas.    He  speakes  to  her,  I  thinke. 

Fac.   That  he  do's,  sir.  70 

Sur.    Por  el  amor  de  dios,  que  es  esto,   que  se 
tarda  ? 

Kas.    Nay,'  see :    shee   will  not    understand 
him  !    Gull. 
Noddy. 

PH.   What  say  you   brother  ? 

Kas.    Asse,  my  suster, 
Goe  kusse  him,  as  the  cunning  man  would  ha' 

you; 
I'll  thrust  a  pinne  i'  your  buttocks  else. 

Fac.   O,  no  sir.  7S 

Sur.    Sennora  m\a,  mi  persona  muy  indigna  esta 
A  lie  gar  a  tanta  Hermosura. 

Fac.    Do's  he  not  use  her  bravely  ? 

Kas.    Bravely,  i-faith  ! 

Fac.    Nay,  he  will  use  her  better. 

76,  77  esta,  A  Hegar,  tanta.      F  and  Qjsta,  Alk  gar  a  tanta. 


Scene  IV]  &\)t  glCijCttUflft  309 

Kas.    Doe  you  thinke  so  ? 

Sur.    Sennora,  si  sera  servida,  entremos.  go 

[Exit  with  Dame  Pliant.] 
Kas.  Where  do's  he  carry  her  ? 
Fac.    Into  the  garden,  sir; 
Take  you  no  thought :   I  must  interpret  for  her. 
Sub.    Give  Dol    the  word.      \_Aside  to  Face, 
who  goes  out.]      Come,  my  fierce  child, 
advance, 
Wee'll  to  our  quarrelling  lesson  againe. 

Kas.    Agreed. 
I  love  a  Spanish  boy,  with  all  my  heart.  s5 

Sub.    Nay,  and  by  this  meanes,  sir,  you  shall 
be  brother 
To  a  great  count. 

Kas.    I,  I  knew  that,  at  first. 
This  match  will  advance  the  house  of  the  Kas- 
trils. 
Sub.    'Pray  God,  your  sister  prove  but  pliant. 
Kas.   Why, 
Her  name  is  so  :   by  her  other  husband. 
Sub.    How  ? 
Kas.  The  Widdow   Pliant.      Knew  you  not 

that  ? 
Sub.    No  faith,  sir. 
Yet,  by  erection  of  her  figure,  I  gest  it. 
Come,  let's  goe  practice. 

80  entremos,     F  and  Q  en tr emus. 


90 


310  XEfyt  2L\tfytmtet  [activ. 

Kas.  Yes,  but  doe  you  thinke,  Doctor, 
I  e'er  shall  quarrell  well  ? 

Sub.    I  warrant  you.  [Exeunt.] 

Act  IV.     Scene  V. 

[Enter]  Dol,  [followed  by]  Mammon;  [later]  Face, 
Subtle. 

[Dol.]    For,  after  Alexanders  /„  her  fit  of 

death talking. 

Mammon.   Good  lady 

Dol.  That    Perdiccas,   and    Antigonus    were 
slaine, 

The  two  that  stood,  Seleuc'  and  Ptolomee 

Mam.    Madame. 

Dol.    Made  up  the  two  legs,  and  the  fourth 
beast. 
That  was  Gog-north,  and   Egypt-south :   which 

after  5 
Was   call'd    Gog   Iron  -  leg,   and   South    Iron- 
leg 

Mam.    Lady 

Dol.    And  then  Gog-horned.    So  was  Egypt, 
too. 

Then  Egypt  clay-leg,  and  Gog  clay-leg 

Ma?n.    Sweet  madame 

Dol.    And    last    Gog-dust,    and    Egypt-dust, 
which  fall 


Scene  V]  'faty  &Ut)nm$t  3H 

In    the  last  linke  of  the  fourth  chaine.     And 

these  IO 

Be  starres  in  story,  which  none  see,  or  looke 

at 

Mam.   What  shall  I  doe  ? 
Dol.    For,  as  he  sayes,  except 
We      call      the      rabbines,     and     the     heathen 

Greekes 

Mam.    Deare  lady 

Dol.    To  come  from  Salem,  and  from  Ath- 
ens, 
And  teach  the  people  of  Great  Britaine 

[Enter  Face,  hastily,  in  his  servant's  dress.~\ 

Face.   What's  the  matter,  sir?  15 

Dol.    To  speake  the    tongue  of   Eber,    and 
Javan 

Ma?n.   O, 
Sh'  is  in  her  fit. 

Dol.   We  shall  know  nothing 

Fac.    Death,  sir, 
We  are  un-done. 

Dol.  Where,  then,  a  learned  linguist 
Shall  see  the  antient  us'd  communion 
Of  vowels,  and  consonants 

Fac.    My  master  will  heare  !  20 

Dol.  A    wisedome,    which    Pythagoras    held 
most  high 


3 1 2  &t)e  &it\)tmi$t  [Act  IV. 

Mam.    Sweet  honorable  lady  ! 

Dol.    To  comprise 
All    sounds   of  voyces,   in   few  markes  of  let- 
ters  

Fac.    Nay,  you  must  never  hope  to  lay  her 
now. 

They  speake  together. 
Dol.  And  so  we  may  arrive  Fac.    How  did  you  put  her 

by  Talmud  skill,  25  into't  ? 

And  profane  Greeke,  to  raise  the  Mam.    Alas  I  talk'd 

building  up  Of  a    fift    monarchy    I    would 

Of  Helens   house,    against   the  erect, 

Ismaelite,  With  the  philosophers  stone  (by 

King    of   Thogarma,    and     his  chance)  and  shee  35 

habergions  Fals  on  the  other  foure,  straight. 

Brimstony,  blew,  and  fiery  ;  and  Fac.   Out  of  Broughton  ! 

the  force  I  told  you  so.      'Slid,   stop  her 

Of  King  Abaddon,  and  the  beast  mouth. 

of  Cittim  :  30      Mam.   Is't  best  ? 

Which    Rabbi    David    Kimchi,  Fac.    She'll  never  leave  else. 

Onkelos,  If  the  old  man  heare  her, 

And     Aben-Ezra    doe    interpret     We  are  but  faces,  ashes. 

Rome.  Sub.  [<witbiti\.  What's  to  doe 

there  ? 
Fac.  O,  we  are  lost.    Now  she 
heares  him,  she  is  quiet.         40 

Mam.   Where  shall  I  hide  me  ?  upon  Subtles 

Sub.    How !     What  sight  is  here  !  e"try  they 

Close    deeds    of  darknesse,    and    that 

shunne  the  li<iht ! 
Bring   him   againe.      Who  is  he  ?      What,  my 

sonne ! 
O,  I  have  liv'd  too  long. 

34  Mam,  Fi  Man.      35    With,  QJtVhich.      38   Mam,  Fi  Man. 


Scene  V.]  f&ty  QU\)t\Vii8t  313 

Mam.    Nay  good,  deare  father, 
There  was  no'  unchast  purpose. 

Sub.    Not  ?   and  flee  me,  45 

When  I  come  in  ? 

Mam.    That  was  my  error. 

Sub.    Error  ? 
Guilt,  guilt,  my  sonne.    Give  it  the  right  name. 

No  marvaile, 
If  I  found  check  in  our  great  worke  within, 
When  such  affaires  as  these  were  managing  ! 

Mam.   Why,  have  you  so  ? 

Sub.   It  has  stood  still  this  halfe  houre:  50 

And  all  the  rest  of  our  lesse  workes  gone  back. 
Where  is  the  instrument  of  wickednesse, 
My  lewd  false  drudge  ? 

Mam.    Nay,  good  sir,  blame  not  him. 
Beleeve  me,  'twas  against  his  will,  or  know- 
ledge. 
I  saw  her  by  chance. 

Sub.   Will  you  commit  more  sinne,  55 

T*  excuse  a  varlet  ? 

Mam.    By  my  hope,  'tis  true,  sir. 

Sub.    Nay,  then  I  wonder  lesse,  if  you,  for 
whom 
The    blessing  was    prepar'd,  would    so    tempt 

heaven  : 
And  loose  your  fortunes. 

Mam.    Why,  sir?' 

50  stood  still,  Q^gone  back.  51  gone  back,  Qjtand  still. 


3 14  tEl)C  &lt\)tn\i&t  [Act  IV. 

Sub.   This'll  retard 
The  worke,  a  month  at  least. 

Mam.   Why,  if  it  doe,  60 

What  remedie?  but  thinke  it  not,  good  father: 
Our  purposes  were  honest. 

Sub.  As  they  were, 
So  the   reward   will    prove.      How      a  great  crack 

now  !     Aye  me.  an^  none  within. 

God,  and  all  saints  be  good  to  us.    What's  that  \ 

[Re-enter  Face.] 

Fac.  O  sir,  we  are  defeated  !    All  the  workes    65 
Are  flowne  infumo  :   every  glasse  is  burst. 
Fornace,  and  all  rent  downe  !   as  if  a  bolt 
Of  thunder  had  beene  driven  through  the  house. 
Retorts,  receivers,  pellicanes,  bolt-heads, 
All   strooke  in   shivers  !    Helpe,  good       SuMe  ralls 

sir  !      Alas,  downe  as  in  a 

Coldnesse,   and    death    invades    him.      sww'w- 

Nay,  Sir  Mammon, 
Doe  the  faire  offices  of  a  man  !     You  stand, 
As  you  were  readier  to  depart,  then  he.       One  knocks. 
Who's  there  ?     My  lord  her  brother  is 

come. 
Mam.    Ha,  Lungs  ? 
Fac.    His  coach  is  at  the  dore.     Avoid   his 

sight,  75 

For  hee's  as  furious,  as  his  sister  is  mad. 

59    This'll  retard,  QJThis  will  hinder. 


Scene  V.]  faty  QU\)Cmi$t  3T5 

Mam.   Alas! 

Fac.    My  braine  is  quite  un-done  with  the 

fume,  sir, 
I  ne'er  must  hope  to  be  mine  owne  man  againe. 
Mam.    Is  all  lost,  Lungs  ?    Will  nothing  be 

preserv'd 
Of  all  our  cost  ? 

Fac.    Faith,  very  little,  sir.  8o 

A  peck  of  coales,  or  so,  which  is  cold  comfort, 

sir. 
Mam.   O  my  voluptuous  mind  !    I  am  justly 

punish'd. 
Fac.    And  so  am  I,  sir. 

Mam.   Cast  from  all  my  hopes 

Fac.    Nay,  certainties,  sir. 

Mam.    By  mine  owne  base  affections. 

Sub.     O,     the    Curst     fruits    of  vice,        Subtle  seemes 
and  lust  !  come  to  him- 

Mam.   Good  father,  self- 

It  was  my  sinne.    Forgive  it. 

Sub.    Hangs  my  roofe 
Over  us  still,  and  will  not  fall,  O  justice, 
Upon  us,  for  this  wicked  man  ! 

Fac.    Nay,  looke,  sir, 
You  grieve  him,  now,  with  staying  in  his  sight : 
Good,  sir,  the  noble  man   will    come   too,  and 

take  you,  9o 

And  that  may  breed  a  tragoedie. 


3l6  W$t  0Uljemi0t  [Act  IV. 

Mam.    I'll  goe. 

Fac.    I,  and  repent  at  home,  sir.    It  may  be, 
For  some  good  penance,  you  may  ha'  it,  yet, 
A  hundred  pound  to  the  boxe  at  Bet'lem 

Mam.  Yes. 

Fac.   For  the  restoring  such  as  ha'  their  wits. 

Mam.    I'll  do't.  95 

Fac.    He  send  one  to  you  to  receive  it. 

Mam.    Doe. 
Is  no  projection  left  ? 

Fac.  All  flowne,  or  stinks,  sir. 

Mam.   Will  nought  be  sav'd,  that's  good  for 
med'cine,  think'st  thou  ? 

Fac.    I  cannot  tell,  sir.    There  will    be,  per- 
haps, 
Something,  about  the  scraping  of  the  shardes,     ioo 
Will   cure  the  itch  :   though   not  your  itch   of 

mind,  sir. 
It  shall  be  sav'd  for  you,  and  sent  home.   Good, 

sir, 
This  way  :    for  feare  the  lord  should  meet  you. 

[Exit  Mammon.^ 

Sub.  [raising  bis  bead~\  .    Face. 

Fac.    I. 

Sub.    Is  he  gone  ? 

Fac.  Yes,  and  as  heavily 
As  all  the  gold  he  hop'd  for,  were  in  his  bloud.105 
Let  us  be  light,  though. 


Scene  V.  ]  f&ty  Qlttymtit  3 1 7 

Sub.  [leaping  up~\ .  I,  as  balls,  and  bound 
And  hit  our  heads  against  the  roofe  for  joy  : 
There's  so  much  of  our  care  now  cast  away. 

Fac.    Now  to  our  Don. 

Sub.   Yes,  your  yong  widdow,  by  this  time 
Is  made  a  countesse,  Face  :   sh'  has  beene  in 

travaile  no 

Of  a  yong  heire  for  you. 

Fac.    Good,  sir. 

Sub.   Off  with  your  case, 
And  greet  her  kindly,  as  a  bride-groome  should, 
After  these  common  hazards. 

Fac.  Very  well,  sir. 
Will  you  goe  fetch  Don  Diego  off,  the  while  ? 

Sub.   And   fetch  him  over  too,  if  you'll    be 
pleas'd,  sir :  115 

Would  Dol  were  in  her  place,  to  pick  his  pock- 
ets now. 

Fac.   Why,  you  can  doe  it   as  well,  if  you 
would  set  to't. 
I  pray  you  prove  your  vertue. 

Sub.    For  your  sake,  sir.  [Exeunt.~\ 


318  XKty  8\t\)tmi$t  [activ. 

Act  IV.     Scene  VI. 

[Enter]   Surly,  Da  [me]  Pliant;    [later]  Subtle, 
Face. 

[ Surly.]    Lady,  you  see  into  what  hands  you 

are  falne ; 
Mongst  what  a  nest  of  villaines  !  and  how  neere 
Your  honor  was  t'  have  catch'd  a  certaine  clap 
(Through  your  credulitie)  had  I  but  beene 
So  punctually  forward,  as  place,  time,  5 

And  other  circumstance  would  ha'  made  a  man  : 
For  yo'  are  a  handsome  woman  :  would  yo'  were 

wise,  too. 
I  am  a  gentleman,  come  here  disguis'd, 
Onely  to  find  the  knaveries  of  this  citadell, 
And  where  I  might  have  wrong'd  your  honor, 

and  have  not,  10 

I  claime  some  interest  in  your  love.    You  are, 
They  say,  a  widdow,  rich  :  and  I  am  a  batcheler, 
Worth  nought :  your  fortunes  may  make  me  a 

man, 
As  mine  ha'  preserv'd  you  a  woman.    Thinke 

upon  it, 
And  whether,  I  have  deserv'd  you,  or  no. 

Pliant.    I  will,  sir.  15 

Sur.   And  for  these  household-rogues,  let  me 

alone, 
To  treat  with  them. 

1 6  Sur.      Fl  and  QJSub. 


Scene  VI.]  1&\)Z  ^IctjCltttet  319 

[Enter  Subtle.] 

Subtle.    How  doth  my  noble  Diego  ? 
And  my  deare  Madame,  Countesse  ?     Hath  the 

Count 
Beene  courteous,  Lady  ?   liberall  ?   and  open  ? 
Donzell,  me  thinkes  you  looke  melancholike,       20 
After  your  coitum,  and  scurvy  !     True-ly, 
I  doe  not  like  the  dulnesse  of"  your  eye : 
It  hath  a  heavy  cast,  'tis  upsee  Dutch, 
And  say's  you  are  a  lumpish  whore-master. 
Be  lighter,  I  will  make  your  pockets  so.  He  falls  to    25 
Sur.     [Throws  open  his  cloak.']     Will  picking  of  them. 

you,  Don  bawd,  and  pick-purse  ? 
[Strikes  hint  down.]    How  now  ?     Reele  you  ? 
Stand   up,   sir,  you   shall   finde  since  I  am   so 

heavy, 
I'll  gi'  you  equall  weight. 
Sub.   Helpe,  murder  ! 
Sur.   No,  sir. 
There's  no  such  thing  intended.    A  good  cart, 
And  a  cleane  whip  shall  ease  you  of  that  feare.    30 
I    am    the   Spanish   Don,  that    should   be   cos- 

sened, 
Doe  you  see  ?   cossened  ?    Where's  your  Cap- 

tayne  Face  ? 
That  parcell-broker,  and   whole-bawd,  all  ras- 

kall. 


320  W$t  0lct)emtet  [act  iv. 

[Enter  Face  in  his  uniform.^ 

Face.   How,  Surly  ! 

Sur.   O,  make  your  approach,  good  Captaine. 
I'  have  found  from  whence  your  copper  rings, 

and  spoones  35 

Come,  now,  wherewith  you  cheate  abroad  in 

tavernes. 
'Twas  here,  you  learn'd  t'  anoint  your  boot  with 

brimstone, 
Then  rub  mens  gold  on  't,  for  a  kind  of  touch, 
And  say  'twas  naught,  when  you  had  chang'd 

the  colour, 
That  you  might  ha'  it  for  nothing  ?     And  this 

Doctor,  40 

Your  sooty,  smoakie-bearded  compeere,  he 
Will  close  you  so  much  gold,  in  a  bolts-head, 
And,  on  a  turne,  convay  (i'  the  stead)  another 
With  sublim'd   mercurie,  that  shall  burst  i'  the 

heate. 
And  flye  out  all  infumo?    Then  weepes  Mam- 
mon :  45 
Then  swounes  his  worship.    Or,[Face  slips  out.~\ 

he  is  the  Faustus, 
That  casteth  figures,  and  can  conjure,  cures 
Plagues,  piles,  and  poxe,  by  the  cphemerides, 
And  holds  intelligence  with  all  the  bawdes, 
And  midwives  of  three  shires  ?   while  you  send 

in 5^ 


Scene  VII]  Wi)t  SUt^ttttigt  321 

Captaine,(what  is  he  gone  ?)  dam'sells  with  child, 
Wives,  that  are  barren,  or,  the  waiting-maide 
With  the  greene-sicknesse. 

[Seizes  Subtle  as  he  is  retiring.] 
Nay,  sir,  you  must  tarrie 
Though  he  be  scap't;  and  answere,  by  the  eares, 
sir. 

Act  IV.     Scene  VII. 

[Enter]   Face,  [with]   Kastril,  [to]   Surly  [and] 
Subtle ;  [enter  later]  Drugger  [and]  Ana- 
nias, Dame  Pliant,  [still  later]  Dol. 

[Face.]    Why,  now's  the  time,  if  ever  you 
will  quarrell 
Well  (as  they  say)  and  be  a  true-borne  child. 
The  Doctor,  and  your  sister  both  are  abus'd. 
Kastril.   Where  is  he  ?    Which  is  he  ?    He  is 
a  slave 
What  ere  he  is,  and  the  sonne  of  a  whore.  Are 

you 
The  man,  sir,  I  would  know  ? 
Surly.   I  should  be  loth,  sir, 
To  confesse  so  much. 

Kas.  Then  you  lie,  i'  your  throate. 
Sur.   How  ? 

Fac.  [to  Kastril] .    A  very  errant  rogue,  sir, 
and  a  cheater, 


322  t£ije  £lctyemi0t  [activ. 

Employd  here,  by  another  conjurer, 

That  dos  not  love  the  Doctor,  and  would  crosse 

him  io 

If  he  knew  how 

Sur.  Sir,  you  are  abus'd. 
Kas.   You  lie  : 
And  'tis  no  matter. 

Fac.  Well  said,  sir.      He  is 

The  impudent'st  raskall 

Sur.   You  are  indeed.    Will  you  heare  me,  sir? 
Fac.   By  no  meanes  :   bid  him  be  gone. 
Kas.   Be  gone,  sir,  quickly. 
Sur.  This's  strange  !    Lady,  doe  you  informe 

your  brother.  15 

Fac.   There  is   not   such   a   foyst,  in  all  the 

towne, 

The  Doctor  had  him,  presently  :  and  findes,  yet, 

The  Spanish  Count  will  come,  here.    Beare  up, 

Subtle.  [Aside.~\ 

Sub.  Yes,   sir,  he  must   appeare,  within  this 

houre. 
Fac.  And  yet  this  rogue,  would  come,  in  a 
disguise,  20 

By  the  temptation  of  another  spirit, 
To  trouble  our  art,  though  he  could  not  hurt  it. 

Kas.   I, 
I  know  —  Away,    [to  bis  sister]  you  talke  like  a 
foolish  mauther. 


&     J&       •  ■ 


Scene  VII.]  CDtjC  Q\t\)tmi&t  323 

Sur.   Sir,  all  is  truth,  she  saies. 
Fac.   Doe  not  beleeve  him,  sir  : 
He  is  the  lying'st  swabber  !     Come  your  wayes, 

sir.  25 

Sur.  You  are  valiant,  out  of  companie. 
Kas.  Yes,  how  then,  sir  ? 

[ Enter  Drugger,  with  a  piece  of  damask .] 

Fac.  Nay,  here's  an  honest  fellow  too,  that 
knowes  him, 
And  all   his  tricks.     (Make  good  what  I  say, 

Abel,) 
This  cheater  would  ha'  cossen'd  thee  o'  the  wid- 

dow. 
He  owes  this  honest  Drugger,  here,  seven  pound,  3° 
He  has  had  on  him,  in  two-penny'orths  of  ta- 
bacco. 
Drugger.  Yes,  sir.     And  h'  has  damn'd  him- 

selfe,  three  termes,  to  pay  mee. 
Fac.   And  what  do's  he  owe  for  lotium  ? 
Dru.  Thirtie  shillings,  sir  : 
And  for  sixe  syringes. 
Sur.   Hydra  of  villainie  ! 

Fac.  Nay,   sir,  you  must  quarrell  him  out  o' 
the  house.  [To  KastrilJ] 

Kas.    I  will.  35 

Sir,  if  you  get  not  out  o'  dores,  you  lie : 
And  you  are  a  pimpe. 

32   IC  has,  Q__he  hath. 


324  WW  #lCt)WttSft  [Act  IV. 

Sur.  Why,  this  is  madnesse,  sir, 
Not  valure  in  you  :   I  must  laugh  at  this. 

Kas.    It  is  my  humour  :  you  are  a  pimpe,  and 
a  trig, 
And  an  Amadis  de  Gaule,  or  a  Don  Quixote.      40 
Dru.  Or  a  knight  o'  the  curious  cox-combe. 
Doe  you  see  ? 

\Enter  Ananias^ 

Ananias.    Peace  to  the  houshold. 

Kas.    He  keepe  peace,  for  no  man. 

Ana.   Casting  of  dollers  is  concluded  lawfull. 

Kas.    Is  he  the  constable  ? 

Sub.    Peace,  Ananias. 

Fac.    No,  sir. 

Kas.  Then  you  are  an  otter,  and  a  shad,  a 
whit,  45 

A  very  tim. 

Sur.  You'll  heare  me,  sir  ? 

Kas.    I  will  not. 

Ana.   What  is  the  motive  ! 

Sub.    Zeale,  in  the  yong  gentleman, 
Against  his  Spanish  slops 

Ana.  They  are  profane. 
Leud,  superstitious,  and  idolatrous  breeches. 

Sur.    New  raskals  ! 

Kas.    Will  you  be  gone,  sir  ? 

38    Valure,  Fl  Fa  and  Qi. 


Scene  VII.]  f&ty  &lct)Cm&t  325 

Ana.    Avoid  Sathan,  50 

Thou  art  not  of  the  light.    That  ruffe  of  pride, 
About  thy  neck,  betrayes  thee  :  'and  is  the  same 
With  that,  which  the  uncleane  birds,  in  seventy- 
seven, 
Were  seene  to  pranlce  it  with,  on  divers  coasts. 
Thou  look'st  like  Antichrist,  in  that  leud  hat.      55 
Sur.    I  must  give  way. 
Kas.    Be  gone,  sir. 
Sur.    But  He  take 

A  course  with  you 

Ana.    Depart,  proud  Spanish  fiend. 
Sur.   Captain,  and  Doctor. 
Ana.   Child  of  perdition. 

Kas.    Hence,  sir.  [Exit  Surly.~\ 

Did  I  not  quarrell  bravely  ? 
Fac.   Yes,  indeed,  sir. 
Kas.    Nay,  and   I  give  my  mind  to't,  I  shall 

do't.  60 

Fac.  O,  you  must  follow,  sir,  and  threaten 
him  tame. 
Hee'll  turne  againe  else. 

Kas.    I'll  re-turne  him,  then. 

[Exit    Kastril;   Subtle    takes    Ananias 
aside. ] 
Fac.    Drugger,  this  rogue  prevented  us,  for 
thee : 

57  Depart  .  .  fiend,  F  incorrectly  prints  this  in  (),  Q  is  correct. 


326  1&\)t  0lct)fmt0t  [Act  IV. 

We'  had  determin'd,  that  thou  shouldst  ha'  come, 
In  a  Spanish  sute,  and  ha'  carried  her  so;  and 

he  6S 

A  brokerly  slave,  goes,  puts  it  on  himselfe. 
Hast  brought  the  damaske  ? 
Dru.  Yes  sir. 
Fac.  Thou  must  borrow, 
A  Spanish  suite.    Hast  thou  no  credit  with  the 
players  ? 
Dru.  Yes,  sir,  did  you  never  see  me  play  the 

foole  ? 
Fac.    I  know  not,  Nab  :  thou  shalt,  if  I  can 

helPe  I1'  Subtle  hath    70 

Hieronymo's  old  cloake,  ruffe,  and  hat      -whisperdivith 
will  serve,  him  thh  'whUe- 

He  tell  thee  more,  when  thou  bringst  'hem. 

[Exit  D rugger.] 

Ana.    Sir,  I  know 
The  Spaniard  hates  the  Brethren,  and  hath  spies 
Upon  their  actions  :  and  that  this  was  one 
I  make  no  scruple.    But  the  holy  synode  75 

Have  beene  in  prayer,  and  meditation,  for  it. 
And  'tis  reveal'd,  no  lesse,  to  them,  then  me, 
That  casting  of  money  is  most  lawfull. 

Sub.  True. 
But  here,  I  cannot  doe  it ;   if  the  house 
Should  chance  to  be  suspected,  all  would  out,      80 
And  we  be  lock'd  up  in  the  Tower,  for  ever, 


Scene  VII.]  X&ty  &\t\)tmi&t  327 

To  make  gold  there  (for  th'  state)  :  never  come 

out : 
And,  then,  are  you  defeated. 

Ana.    I  will  tell 
This  to  the  elders,  and  the  weaker  Brethren, 
That  the  whole  companie  of  the  Separation  85 

May  joyne  in  humble  prayer  againe. 
Sub.    (And  fasting.) 

Ana.    Yea,  for  some  fitter  place.    The  peace 
of  mind 
Rest  with  these  walls. 

Sub.  Thanks,  courteous  Ananias. 

[Exit  Ananiai.] 
Fac.   What  did  he  come  for  ? 
Sub.    About  casting  dollers, 
Presently,  out  of  hand.    And  so,  I  told  him,         90 
A  Spanish  minister  came  here  to  spie, 

Against  the  faithfull 

Fac.    I  conceive.    Come  Subtle, 
Thou  art  so  downe  upon  the  least  disaster ! 
How  wouldst  tho'  ha'  done,  if  I  had  not  helpt 
thee  out  ? 
Sub.    I  thanke  thee  Face,  for  the  angrie  boy, 

i-faith. 
Fac.  Who   would    ha'   lookt,   it    should   ha' 
beene  that  raskall  ? 

82  State,  F  has  no  punctuation  after  the  word  j  Q  puts  a  colon, 
incorrectly,  after  there. 


95 


328  X&\)t  glcljemist  [act  iv. 

Surly?    He  had  dy'd  his  beard,  and  all.    Well, 

sir, 
Here's  damaske  come,  to  make  you  a  suit. 

Sub.   Where's  Drugger  ? 

Fac.    He  is  gone   to   borrow   me  a  Spanish 
habite, 
He  be  the  count,  now. 

Sub.    But  where's  the  widdow?  ioo 

Fac.    Within,  with  my  lords  sister :  Madame 
Dol 
Is  entertayning  her. 

Sub.    By  your  favour,  Face, 
Now  shee  is  honest,  I  will  stand  againe. 

Fac.    You  will  not  offer  it. 

Sub.  Why? 

Fac.    Stand  to  your  word, 
Or — here  comes  Dol.     She  knowes 

Sub.    Yo'  are  tyrannous  still.  io5 

^Enter  Dol,  hastily.] 

Fac.    Strict  for  my  right.      How  now,  Dol  ! 
Hast'  told  her, 
The  Spanish  Count  will  come  ? 

Dol.  Yes,  but  another  is  come, 
You  little  look'd  for  ! 

Fac.  Who's  that  ? 

Dol.  Your  master : 
The  master  of  the  house. 

104  Sub.  Fi  and  ¥2  misprint  Sur. 


Scene  VII.]  <&\)l  &lct)Cmt0t  329 

Sub.    How,  Dol ! 
Fac.    Shee  lies. 
This  is  some  trick.      Come,  leave  your  quib- 

lins,  Dorothee.  no 

Dol.    Looke  out,  and  see. 

^Face  goes  to  the  window.~\ 
Sub.  Art  thou  in  earnest  ? 
Dol.   'Slight, 
Fortie  o'  the  neighbours  are  about  him,  talking. 
Fac.    'Tis  he,  by  this  good  day. 
Dol.   'Twill  prove  ill  day, 
For  some  on  us. 

Fac.   We  are  undone,  and  taken. 
Dol.    Lost,  I'm  afraid. 

Sub.    You  said  he  would  not  come,  115 

While  there  dyed  one  a  weeke,  within  the  lib- 
erties. 
Fac.    No  :  'twas  within  the  walls. 
Sub.  Was't  so  ?    Cry'  you  mercy  : 
I    thought   the   liberties.      What    shall  we    doe 
now,  Face  ? 
Fac.    Be  silent :  not  a  word,  if  he  call,  or  knock. 
I'll  into  mine  old  shape  again,  and  meet  him,      120 
Of  Jeremie,  the  butler.    F  the  meane  time, 
Doe  you  two  pack  up  all  the  goods,  and  pur- 
chase, 
That    we   can    carry   i'   the    two    trunkes.    I'll 
keepe  him 

115    I'm,  QJ  am. 


33°  tE^e  Qlttycmist  [act  iv. 

Off  for  to  day,  if  I  cannot  longer  :  and  then 

At  night,  He  ship  you  both  away  to  Ratcliffe,     125 

Where  wee'll  meet  to  morrow,  and  there  wee'll 

share. 
Let   Mammon's  brasse,  and   pewter  keepe  the 

cellar  : 
Wee'll  have  another  time  for  that.    But,  Dol, 
'Pray  thee,  goe  heate  a  little  water,  quickly, 
Subtle  must  shave  me.    All  my  Captaines  beard  130 
Must  off,  to  make  me  appeare  smooth  Jeremie. 
You'll  do't  ? 

Sub.  Yes,  He  shave  you,  as  well  as  I  can. 

Fac.  And  not  cut  my  throte,  but  trim  me  ? 

Sub.  You  shall  see,  sir.  [Exeunt. ~\ 

126  there,  Qjhen. 


Act  V.     Scene  I. 

[iiwter]  Love-wit,  \yuith  several  of  the~\ 
Neighbours. 

[Lovewit.~\     Has  there  beene  such  resort,  say 
you  ? 

Neighbour  I.    Daily,  sir. 

Neighbour  2.    And  nightly,  too. 

Neighbour  j.    I,  some  as  brave  as  lords. 

Neighbour  4..    Ladies,  and  gentlewomen. 

Neighbour  5.    Citizens  wives. 

Nei.  1.    And  knights. 

Neighbour  6.    In  coches. 

Nei.  2.    Yes,  and  oyster-women. 

Nei.  1.    Beside  other  gallants. 

Nei.  j.    Sailors  wives. 

Nei.  4.    Tabacco-men. 

Nei.  5.    Another  Pimlico  ! 

Lov.   What  should  my  knave  advance, 
To  draw  this  companie  ?    He  hung  out  no  ban- 
ners 
Of  a  strange  calfe,  with  five  legs,  to  be  seene  ? 
Or  a  huge  lobster,  with  sixe  clawes  ? 

Nei.  6.    No,  sir. 

Nei.  j.    We  had  gone  in  then,  sir. 

Lov.    He  has  no  guift 


332  X&\)t  #lctWtttet  [Act  V. 

Of  teaching  i'  the  nose,  that  ere  I  knew  of! 
You  saw  no  bills  set  up,  that  promis'd  cure 
Of  agues,  or  the  tooth-ach  ? 

Net.  2.    No  such  thing,  sir. 

Lov.    Nor  heard  a  drum  strooke,  for  babiouns, 
or  puppets  ? 

Nei.  5.    Neither,  sir. 

Lov.    What   device    should    he    bring    forth 
now!  15 

I  love  a  teeming  wit,  as  I  love  my  nourishment, 
'fray  God  he  ha   not  kept  such  open  house, 
That  he  hath  sold  my  hangings,  and  my  bed- 
ding: 
I  left  him  nothing  else.    If  he  have  eate  'hem, 
A  plague  o'  the  moath,  say  I.    Sure  he  has  got     20 
Some  bawdy  pictures,  to  call  all  this  ging; 
The  frier,  and  the  nun  ;  or  the  new  motion 
Of  the  knights  courser,  covering  the   parsons 

mare ; 
The  boy  of  sixe  yeere  old,  with  the  great  thing: 
Or  't  may  be,  he  has  the  fleas  that  runne  at  tilt,  25 
Upon  a  table,  or  some  dog  to  daunce  ? 
When  saw  you  him  ? 

Nei.  I.   Who  sir,  Jeremie  ? 

Nei.  2.    Jeremie  butler  ? 
We  saw  him  not  this  month. 

Lov.    How  ! 

27  month,  F  and  £)  read  monf  h. 


Scene  I]  {Et)C   aicljCmtSt  333 

Nei.  4.    Nor  these  five  weeks,  sir. 

Nei.  6.   These  six  weeks,  at  the  least. 

Lov.   Yo'  amaze  me,  neighbours  ! 

Nei.  5.  Sure,  if  your  worship  know  not  where 

he  is,  30 

Hee's  slipt  away. 

Nei.  6.    Pray  God,  he  be  not  made  away  ! 
Lov.    Ha  ?     It's  no  time  to  question, 

then. 
Nei.  6.   About 
Some  three  weekes  since,  I  heard  a  dolefull  cry, 
As  I  sate  up,  a  mending  my  wives  stockings. 
Lov.  This's  strange  !  that  none  will  answere! 

Didst  thou  heare  35 

A  cry,  saist  thou  ? 

Nei.  6.   Yes,  sir,  like  unto  a  man 
That  had  beene  strangled   an   houre,  and  could 
not  speake. 
Nei.  2.    I  heard    it   too,  just  this  day  three 
weekes,  at  two  a  clock 
Next  morning. 

Lov.  These  be  miracles,  or  you  make  'hem  so  ! 
A  man  an  houre  strangled,  and  could  not  speake,  40 
And  both  you  heard  him  cry  ? 
Nei.  j.   Yes,  downeward,  sir. 
Lov.    Thou  art  a  wise  fellow  :  give  me   thy 
hand  I  pray  thee. 
What  trade  art  thou  on  ? 

29   Nei.  6,  Fi  and  Q^omit  6.    F2  gives  it. 


334  QH)t  jaicljrmtflft  CAct  v- 

Nei.  3.   A  smith,  and't  please  your  worship. 
Lov.  A  smith  ?    Then,  lend   me  thy  helpe, 

to  get  this  dore  open. 
Nei.  j.    That  I  will  presently,  sir,  but  fetch 

my  tooles [Exit.]  45 

Nei.  1.    Sir,  best  to  knock  againe,  afore  you 

breake  it. 

Act  V.     Scene  II. 
Love-wit^  Face,  Neighbours. 
[Loveiuit.]   I  will.  [Knocks  again.] 

[Enter  Face,  in  his  butler's  livery.] 

Face.  What  meane  you,  sir  ? 

Neighbours  1.   2.  4.   O,  here's  Jeremie  ! 

Fac.    Good  sir,  come  from  the  dore. 

Lov.   Why  !   what's  the  matter  ? 

Fac.  Yet  farder,  you  are  too  neere,  yet. 

Lov.    V  the  name  of  wonder  ! 
What  meanes  the  fellow  ? 

Fac.    The  house,  sir,  has  beene  visited. 

Lov.  What  ?    with   the  plague  ?    stand   thou 
then  farder. 

Fac.    No,  sir,  5 

I  had  it  not. 

Lov.  Who  had  it  then  ?    I  left 
None  else,  but  thee,  i'  the  house  ! 


Scene  II]  ®\)t  #lcl)rtttt9ft  335 

Fac.  Yes,  sir.    My  fellow, 
The  cat,  that  kept  the  buttry,  had  it  on  her 
A  weeke,  before  I  spied  it :   but  I  got  her 
Convay'd  away,  i'  the  night.    And  so  I  shut         *° 

The  house  up  for  a  month 

Lov.    How ! 

Fac.    Purposing  then,  sir, 
T'  have  burnt  rose-vinegar,  triackle,  and  tarre, 
And,  ha'  made  it  sweet,  that  you  should  ne'er 

ha'  knowne  it : 
Because  I  knew  the  newes  would  but  afflict  you, 
sir. 
Lov.    Breath  lesse,  and  farder  off.    Why,  this 
is  stranger  !  15 

The  neighbours  tell  me  all,  here,  that  the  dores 

Have  still  been  open 

Fac.    How,  sir  ! 

Lov.    Gallants,  men,  and  women, 
And  of  all   sorts,  tag-rag,  beene   seene  to  flock 

here 
In  threaves,  these  ten  weekes,  as  to  a   second 

Hogs-den, 
In  dayes  of  Pimlico,  and  Eye-bright ! 

Fac.    Sir,  20 

Their  wisdomes  will  not  say  so  ! 

Lov.    To  day,  they  speake, 
Of  coaches,  and   gallants ;  one   in   a   French- 
hood, 


33&  W)t  #ltl)Cmtet  [Act  V. 

Went  in,  they  tell  me  :  and  another  was  seene 
In  a  velvet  gown,  at  the  windore  !  diverse  more 
Passe  in  and  out ! 

Fac.    They  did  passe  through  the  dores  then,   25 
Or  walls,   I   assure  their   eye-sights,  and   their 

spectacles ; 
For    here,   sir,  are  the  keyes :    and  here  have 

beene, 
In  this  my  pocket,  now,  above  twentie  dayes  ! 
And  for  before,  I  kept  the  fort  alone,  there. 
But  that  'tis  yet  not  deepe  i'  the  after-noone,        30 
I  should  beleeve  my  neighbours  had  seene  double 
Through  the  black-pot,  and  made  these  appari- 
tions ! 
For,  on  my  faith,  to  your   worship,   for  these 

three  weekes, 
And  upwards,  the  dore  has  not  beene  open'd. 

Lov.    Strange  ! 

Nei.  1.    Good  faith,  I  thinke  I  saw  a  coach  ! 

Nei.  2.  And  I  too,  35 

I'lld  ha'  beene  sworne! 

Lov.    Doe  you  but  thinke  it  now  ? 
And  but  one  coach  ? 

Nei.  4.  We  cannot  tell,  sir  :  Jeremie 
Is  a  very  honest  fellow. 

Fac.    Did  you  see  me  at  all  ? 

Nei.  1.    No.    That  we  are  sure  on. 

Nei.  2.    I'll  be  sworne  o'  that. 


Scene  III.]  tElje  0Uljrnttflft  337 

Lov.    Fine  rogues,  to  have  your  testimonies 
built  on  ! 

[Re-enter  Third  Neighbour,  with  his  tools.'] 

Neighbour  3.    Is  Jeremie  come  ? 

Nei.  1.    O,  yes,  you  may  leave  your  tooles, 
We  were  deceiv'd,  he  sayes. 

Nei.  2.    He'  has  had  the  keyes  : 
And  the  dore  has  beene  shut  these  three  weekes. 

Nei.  j.    Like  enough. 

Lov.    Peace,  and  get  hence,  you  changelings. 

[Enter  Surly  and  Mammon.] 

Fac.  [aside] .  Surly  come  ! 
And  Mammon  made  acquainted  ?    They'll  tell 

all. 
(How  shall  I  beate  them  off  ?   What  shall  I  doe  ?) 
Nothing's  more  wretched,  then    a   guiltie  con- 
science. 

Act  V.     Scene  III. 

Surly,  Mammon,  Love-wit,  Face,  Neighbours ; 
[later]  Kastril,  Ananias,  Tribulation,  Dapper, 
Subtle. 

[Surly.]    No,  sir,  he  was  a  great  physitian. 
This, 
It  was  no  bawdy-house  :  but  a  meere  chancell. 
You  knew  the  Lord,  and  his  sister. 


♦0 


45 


33 8  &\)C  &lt\)tmi$t  [actV. 

Mammon.    Nay,  good  Surly- 


Sur.    The  happy  word,  be  rich- 
Mam.    Play  not  the  tyranne- 


Sur.    Should  be  to  day  pronounc'd,  to  all  your 
friends.  5 

And  where    be  your  andirons  now  ?  and  your 

brasse-pots  ? 
That  should  ha'  beene  golden  flaggons,  and  great 
wedges  ? 
Mam.  Let  me  but  breath.    What !    They  ha' 

shut  their  dores,  Mammon  and 

Me  thinks  !  Surb  knock- 

Sur.  I,  now,  'tis  holy-day  with  them. 

Mam.    Rogues. 
Coseners,  impostors,  bawds. 

Face.    What  meane  you,  sir  ?  i° 

Mam.  To  enter  if  we  can. 

Fac.    Another  mans  house  ? 
Here  is  the  owner,  sir.    Turne  you  to  him, 
And  speake  your  businesse. 

Mam.    Are  you,  sir,  the  owner  ? 

Lovewit.    Yes,  sir. 

Mam.    And   are  those  knaves,  within,  your 
cheaters  ? 

Lov.    What  knaves  ?    What  cheaters  ? 

Mam.    Subtle,  and  his  Lungs.  15 

Fac.    The  gentleman  is  distracted,  sir !    No 
lungs, 


Scene  III.]  ^C  &it\)tmi$t  339 

Nor   lights   ha'   beene    seene  here  these   three 

weekes,  sir, 
Within  these  dores,  upon  my  word  ! 

Sur.    Your  word, 
Groome  arrogant  ? 

Fac.    Yes,  sir,  I  am  the  house-keeper, 
And  know  the  keyes  ha'  not  beene  out  o'  my 

hands.  20 

Sur.    This's  a  new  Face  ? 

Fac.    You  doe  mistake  the  house,  sir  ! 
What  signe  was't  at  ? 

Sur.    You  raskall  !    This  is  one 
O'    the    confederacie.      Come,    let's    get    offi- 
cers, 
And  force  the  dore. 

Lov.    'Pray  you  stay,  gentlemen. 

Sur.    No,  sir,  wee'll  come  with  warrant. 

Mam.    I,  and  then,  25 

We  shall  ha'  your  dores  open. 

[Exeunt  Mammon  and  Surly.~\ 

Lov.    What  meanes  this  ? 

Fac.    I  cannot  tell,  sir  ! 

Nei.  1.    These  are  two  o'  the  gallants, 
That  we  doe  thinke  we  saw. 

Fac.    Two  o'  the  fooles  ? 
You  talke  as  idly  as  they.    Good  faith,  sir, 
I  thinke  the  moone  has  cras'd  'hem  all !     (O 

me,  30 


340  &\)C  gU^CmtSt  [Act  V. 

[Enter  Kastril.] 

The  angrie  boy    come  too  ?      Hee'll    make  a 

noyse, 
And  nere  away  till  he  have  betray'd  us  all.) 
Kastril.     What     rogues,     bawds, 

,  >n  11  Kastril  knocks. 

slaves,  you  11  open  the  dore 
anone, 
Punque,  cockatrice,  my  suster.    By  this  light 
I'll  fetch  the  marshall  to  you.    You  are  a  whore,  35 

To  keepe  your  castle 

Fac.    Who  would  you  speake  with,  sir  ? 
Kas.    The   bawdy  Doctor,  and  the  cosening 
Captaine, 
And  pus  my  suster. 

Lov.    This  is  something,  sure  ! 

Fac.    Upon  my  trust,  the   dores  were  never 

open,  sir. 
Kas.    I  have  heard   all    their  tricks,  told  me 
twice  over,  4o 

By  the  fat  knight,  and  the  leane  gentleman. 
Lov.    Here  comes  another. 

[Enter  Ananias  and  Tribulation.] 

Fac.    Ananias  too  ? 
And  his  pastor  ? 

Tribulation.      The   dores    are    shut       They  beat  too, 
against  us.  at  the  dore- 

33  you  11,  Q^jou'il. 


Scene  III]  ?&ty  &Ut>emt0t  34 1 

Ananias.   Come  forth,  you  seed  of  sulphure, 
sonnes  of  fire, 
Your  stench,  it  is  broke  forth  :  abomination  4S 

Is  in  the  house. 

Kas.    I,  my  suster's  there. 

Ana.    The  place, 
It  is  become  a  cage  of  uncleane  birds. 

Kas.    Yes,  I  will  fetch  the  scavenger,  and  the 
constable. 

Tri.  You  shall  doe  well. 

Ana.   Wee'll  joyne,  to  weede  them  out. 

Kas.  You  will  not  come  then  ?   punque,  de- 
vice, my  suster !  50 

Ana.    Call  her  not  sister.      Shee  is  a  harlot, 
verily. 

Kas.    I'll  raise  the  street. 

Lov.   Good  gentleman,  a  word. 

Ana.    Sathan,  avoid,  and  hinder  not  our  zeale. 
\_Exeunt  Ananias,  Tribulation,  and  Kastri/.l 

Lov.    The  world's  turn'd  Bet'lem. 

Fac.    These  are  all  broke  loose, 
Out  of  S.  Kather'nes,  where  they  use  to  keepe 
The  better  sort  of  mad-folkes. 

Nei.  1.    All  these  persons 
We  saw  goe  in,  and  out,  here. 

Nei.  2.    Yes,  indeed,  sir. 

Nei.  j.    These  were  the  parties. 

44  sulphure,    .    .  fire,  Q  vipers,    .    .    Belial. 

45  stench,  it,  Qjvickednesse.    46  Qjjmits  I.     48    Tes,  QJL. 


55 


342  tEtje  glctjemiat  [act  v. 

Fac.    Peace,  you  drunkards.    Sir, 
I  wonder  at  it  !    Please  you,  to  give  me  leave 
To  touch  the  dore,  I'll  trie,  an'   the  lock  be 

chang'd.  60 

Lov.    It  mazes  me  ! 

Fac.  [Goes  to   the  door.~\     Good    faith,  sir,  I 
beleeve, 
There's  no  such   thing.    'Tis  all  deceptio  visus. 
[Aside^  Would  I  could  get  him  away. 

Dapper.    Master  Captayne,  Master      Dapper  ayes 

Doctor.  out  'w'l^'n- 

Lov.  Who's  that  ? 
Fac.   (Our   dark  within,  that   I   forgot !)      I 

know  not,  sir. 
Dap.    \%vithin\ .    For   Gods    sake,  when   wil 

her  grace  be  at  leisure  ? 
Fac.    Ha!  65 

Illusions,  some  spirit  o'    the  aire :   (his  gag  is 

melted, 
And  now  he  sets  out  the  throte.) 

Dap.    [within^  .    I  am  almost  stiffled 

Fac.    (Would  you  were  altogether.) 
Lov.    'Tis  i'  the  house. 
Ha!  list. 

Fac.    Beleeve  it,  sir,  i'  the  aire  ! 

Lov.    Peace,  you 

Dap.     \with\n\ .    Mine  aunts  grace  do's  not 
use  me  well. 

60  an',  Qjmd. 


Scene  III.]  ?&\)t  Hlctjettttfift  343 

Subtle.     [within] .    You  foole,  7o 

Peace,  you'll  marre  all. 

Fac.     [Speaks  through  the  key-bole,  ivhile  Love- 
wit  advances  to  the  door  unobserved.]    Or 
you  will  else,  you  rogue. 
Lov.  O,  is  it  so  ?    Then  you  converse  with 
spirits  ! 
Come,  sir.    No  more  o'  your  tricks,  good  Jere- 

mie, 
The  truth,  the  shortest  way. 

Fac.    Dismisse  this  rabble,  sir. 
[Aside.]  What  shall  I  doe  ?    I  am  catch'd. 

Lov.   Good  neighbours, 
I  thanke  you  all.     You   may  depart.      [ Exeunt 

Neighbours.!     Come,  sir, 
You  know  that  I  am  an  indulgent  master : 
And  therefore,  conceale  nothing.    What's  your 

med'cine, 
To  draw  so  many  severall  sorts  of  wild-fowle  ? 
Fac.    Sir,  you  were  wont  to  affect  mirth,  and 

wit :  80 

(But  here's  no  place  to  talke  on't  i'  the  street.) 
Give  me  but  leave,  to  make  the  best  of  my  for- 
tune, 
And  onely  pardon  me  th'  abuse  of  your  house  : 
It's  all  I  begge.    I'll  helpe  you  to  a  widdow, 
In  recompence,  that  you  shall  gi'  me  thankes 

for,  85 


75 


344  W^t  aictjemist  [act  v. 

Will  make  you  seven  yeeres  yonger,  and  a  rich 

one. 
'Tis  but  your  putting  on  a  Spanish  cloake, 
I  have  her  within.     You   need   not   feare  the 

house, 
It  was  not  visited. 

Lov.    But  by  me,  who  came 
Sooner  then  you  expected. 

Fac.    It  is  true,  sir.  90 

'Pray  you  forgive  me. 

Lov.  Well :  let's  see  your  widdow. 

[Exeunt.] 
Act  V.     Scene  IV. 

[Enter]    Subtle,    [leading  in]  Dapper,  [with  his 
eyes  bound  as  before ;   later]  Face,  Do  I. 

Subtle.    How  !   ha'  you  eaten  your  gag  ? 

Dapper.    Yes  faith,  it  crumbled 
Away  i'  my  mouth. 

Sub.   You  ha'  spoil'd  all  then. 

Dap.    No, 
I  hope  my  aunt  of  Faery  will  forgive  me. 

Sub.   Your  aunt's   a   gracious  lady  :   but   in 
troth 
You  were  to  blame. 

Dap.    The  fume  did  over-come  me,  5 

And  I  did  do't  to  stay  my  stomack.    'Pray  you, 
So  satisfie  her  grace. 

4  troth,  Qjruth. 


Scene  IV.]  W$t  #lC&Cmt$t  345 

\Enter  Face.~\ 

Here  comes  the  Captaine, 

Face.    How  now  !    Is  his  mouth  downe  ? 

Sub.    I  !  he  has  spoken  ! 

Fac.    (A  poxe,  I  heard  him,  and  you  too.) 
Hee's  un-done,  then. 
(I  have  beene  faine  to  say,  the  house  is  haunted  10 
With  spirits,  to  keepe  churle  back. 

Sub.    And  hast  thou  done  it  ? 

Fac.    Sure,  for  this  night. 

Sub.  Why,  then  triumph,  and  sing 
Of  Face  so  famous,  the  precious  king 
Of  present  wits. 

Fac.    Did  you  not  heare  the  coyle, 
About  the  dore  ? 

Sub.    Yes,  and  I  dwindled  with  it.)  15 

Fac.    Shew  him  his  aunt,  and  let  him  be  dis- 
patched : 
I'll  send  her  to  you.  [Exit  Face.~\ 

Sub.   Well  sir,  your  aunt  her  grace, 
Will  give  you  audience  presently,  on  my  sute, 
And  the  Captaines  word,  that  you  did  not  eate 

your  gag, 
In  any  contempt  of  her  highnesse. 
'Dap.    Not  I,  in  troth,  sir.  2° 

Sub.    Here  shee  is  come.      Downe  o'      ^ol  like  f 

.  1  •       1  i$ueene  of 

your  knees,  and  wriggle  :  Faery. 


346  tEtje  #lct)nntet  [act  v. 

Shee  has  a  stately  presence.     \_Dapper  kneels,  and 
shuffles  towards  her.~\    Good.   Yet  neerer, 
And  bid,  God  save  you  ! 
Dap.    Madame. 
Sub.    And  your  aunt. 
Dap.    And  my  most  gracious  aunt,  God  save 

your  grace. 
Dol.  Nephew,  we  thought  to  have  beene  angrie 
with  you  :  25 

But   that   sweet  face  of  yours,  hath  turn'd  the 

tide, 
And  made  it  flow  with  joy,  that  eb'd  of  love. 
Arise,  and  touch  our  velvet  gowne. 

Sub.    The  skirts, 
And  kisse  'hem.    So. 

Dol.    Let  me  now  stroke  that  head, 
Much,  nephew,  shalt    thou   win  ;  much   shalt 

thou  spend  ;  30 

Much  shalt   thou  give  away  :    much  shalt  thou 
lend. 
Sub.    (I,  much,  indeed.)    Why  doe  you  not 

thanke  her  grace  ? 
Dap.    I  cannot  speake,  for  joy. 
Sub.    See,  the  kind  wretch  ! 
Your  graces  kins-man  right. 

Dol.    Give  me  the  Bird. 
Here  is  your  Fly  in   a  purse,  about  your  neck, 

cosen,  35 

23  you,  QJier. 


4o 


Scene  IV]  ^C  &\t\)tmi$t  347 

Weare  it,  and  feed  it,  about  this  day  sev'night, 
On  your  right  wrist 

Sub.    Open  a  veine,  with  a  pinne, 
And  let  it  suck  but  once  a  weeke  :   till  then, 
You  must  not  looke  on't. 

Dol.    No.    And,  kins-man, 
Beare  your  selfe  worthy  of  the  bloud  you  come 
on. 

Sub.    Her  grace  would  ha'  you  eate  no  more 
Wool-sack  pies, 
Nor  Dagger  frume'ty. 

Dol.    Nor  breake  his  fast, 
In  Heaven,  and  Hell. 

Sub.    Shee's  with  you  every  where  ! 
Nor  play  with  costar-mongers,  at  mum-chance, 

tray-trip, 
God  make  you  rich,  (when   as   your  aunt   has 

done  it :)  but  keepe  45 

The  gallant'st  company,  and  the  best  games 

Dap.   Yes,  sir. 

Sub.    Gleeke  and  primero  :  and  what  you  get, 
be  true  to  us. 

Dap.    By  this  hand,  I  will. 

Sub.    You  may  bring's  a  thousand  pound, 
Before  to  morrow  night,  (if  but  three  thousand, 
Be  stirring)  an'  you  will. 

Dap.    I  sweare,  I  will  then.  50 

Sub.    Your  Fly  will  learne  you  all  games. 

50,  an  ,  Q^if. 


348  Wc>t  glctjetmsit  [act  v. 

Fac.    \within\  .   Ha'  you  done  there  ? 

Sub.    Your  grace  will  command  him  no  more 

duties  ? 
Dol.    No: 
But  come,  and  see  me  often.    I  may  chance 
To  leave  him  three  or  foure  hundred  chests  of 

treasure, 
And  some  twelve  thousand  acres  of  Faerie  land:   55 
If  he  game  well,  and  comely,  with  good  game- 
sters. 
Sub.   There's  a  kind  aunt  !      Kisse  her  de- 
parting part. 
But  you   must  sell  your  fortie  marke    a  yeare, 
now : 
Dap.    I,  sir,  I  meane. 
Sub.    Or,  gi't  away  :  pox  on't. 
Dap.    I'le  gi't  mine  aunt.    He  go  and  fetch 

the  writings.  60 

Sub.    'Tis  well,  away  ! 

[Exit  Dapper,  re-enter  Face.~\ 

Fac.    Where's  Subtle  ? 

Sub.    Here.    What  newes  ? 

Fac.   Drugger  is  at  the  doore,  goe  take  his  suite, 
And  bid  him  fetch  a  parson  presently: 
Say,  he  shall   marrie  the  widdow.     Thou  shalt 
spend 

55    ttucl've,  Q__five.  58  your,    Fl  you. 

59  pox,  Q^a  poxe.  60  Dap.  Fi  and  Q  Fac. 


Scene  IV.]  t^\)t  3Hc\)tXl%i&t  349 

A  hundred  pound  by  the  service  !    [Exit  Subtle.~\ 
Now,  Queene  Dol,  65 

Ha'  you  pack'd  up  all  ? 

Dol.    Yes. 

Fac.    And  how  doe  you  like 
The  Lady  Plyant  ? 

Dol.    A  good  dull  innocent. 

[Re-enter  Subtle.] 

Sub.    Here's  your  Hieronymo's  cloake,  and 

hat. 
Fac.    Give  mee  'hem. 
Sub.    And  the  ruffe  too  ? 
Fac.    Yes,  I'll  come  to  you  presently,    [is*//.] 
Sub.    Now,   he    is    gone   about    his    project, 
Dol,  7o 

I  told  you  of,  for  the  widow. 

Dol.    'Tis  direct 
Against  our  articles. 

Sub.   Well,  wee'll  fit  him,  wench. 
Hast  thou  gull'd  her  of  her  jewels,  or  her  brace- 
lets ? 
Dol.    No,  but  I  will  do't. 
Sub.    Soone  at  night,  my  Dolly, 
When  we  are  shipt,  and  all  our  goods  aboord,      75 
East-ward    for   Ratcliffe ;    we    will    turne    our 

course 
To  Brainford,  westward,  if  thou  saist  the  word  : 


350  tEtje  Qk\)tmi8t  [act  v. 

And  take  our  leaves  of  this  ore-weaning  raskall, 
This  peremptorie  Face. 

Dol.    Content,  I  'am  weary  of  him. 
Sub.    Thou  'hast  cause,  when  the  slave  will 
runne  a  wiving,  Dol,  80 

Against  the   instrument,  that   was   drawne   be- 
tweene  us. 
Dol.    I'll  plucke  his  bird  as  bare  as  I  can. 
Sub.  Yes,  tell  her, 
She  must  by  any  meanes,  addresse  some  present 
To  th'  cunning  man  ;  make  him  amends,  for 

wronging 
His  art  with  her  suspition ;  send  a  ring;  85 

Or  chaine  of  pearle  ;  shee  will  be  tortur'd  else 
Extremely  in  her  sleepe,  say  :   and  ha'  strange 

things 
Come  to  her.    Wilt  thou  ? 
Dol.  Yes. 

Sub.    My  fine  flitter-mouse, 
My  bird   o'   the  night ;  wee'll   tickle   it  at  the 

Pigeons, 
When  we  have  all,  and  may  un-lock  the  trunkes,  90 
And  say,  this's  mine,  and  thine,  and  thine, 

and  mine They  kisst. 

\_Re-enter  Face.] 

Fac.  What  now,  a  billing  ? 

80    Thou  'hast  cause,  F  tho'  hast. 


Scene  IV.]  tEljt  &Ul)tmi&t  35* 

Sub.   Yes,  a  little  exalted 
In  the  good  passage  of  our  stock-affaires. 

Fac.    Drugger  has  brought  his  parson,  take 
him  in,  Subtle, 
And  send  Nab  back  againe,  to  wash  his  face.       95 

Sub.    I  will :   and  shave  himselfe.  [.ZsavV.] 

Fac.    If  you  can  get  him. 

Dol.  You  are  hot  upon  it,  Face,  what  ere  it  is ! 

Fac.   A  trick,  that  Dol  shall  spend  ten  pound 
a  month  by. 

[Re-enter  Subtle.] 

Is  he  gone  ? 

Sub.    The  chaplaine  waits  you  i'  the  hall,  sir. 
Fac.    I'll  goe  bestow  him.  \_Exit.~\ 

Dol.    Hee'll  now  marry  her,  instantly.  ioo 

Sub.    He  cannot,  yet,  he  is  not  readie.    Deare 
Dol, 

Cosen  her  of  all  thou  canst.    To  deceive  him 

Is  no  deceipt,  but  justice,  that  would  breake 

Such  an  inextricable  tye  as  ours  was. 
Dol.    Let  me  alone  to  fit  him. 

[Re-enter  Face.] 

Fac.    Come,  my  venturers,  I05 

You  ha'  pack'd  up  all  ?    Where  be  the  trunkes  ? 
Bring  forth. 
Sub.    Here. 

95   Nab,  QJiim. 


352  Wfyt  alchemist  [act  v. 

Fac.    Let's  see  'hem.    Where's  the  money  ? 
Sub.    Here, 
In  this. 

Fac.    Mammons  ten  pound  :  eight  score  be- 
fore. 
The    Brethrens    money,   this.     Druggers,    and 

Dappers. 
What  paper's  that  ? 

Dol.    The  jewell  of  the  waiting  maides,  no 

That   stole    it    from    her    lady,  to    know   cer- 

taine 

Fac.    If  shee  should  have  precedence  of  her 

mistris  ? 
Dol.  Yes. 

Fac.  What  boxe  is  that? 
Sub.    The  fish-wives  rings,  I  thinke  : 
And  th'  ale-wives  single  money.    Is't  not  Dol  ? 
Dol.  Yes  :  and  the  whistle,  that  the  saylors 
wife  115 

Brought  you,  to  know,  and  her  husband  were 
with  Ward. 
Fac.  Wee'll  wet  it  to-morrow :  and  our  sil- 
ver-beakers, 
And  taverne  cups.    Where  be  the  French  petti- 
coats, 
And  girdles,  and  hangers  ? 

Sub.    Here,  i'  the  trunke, 
And  the  bolts  of  lawne. 


Scene  IV.]  XB\)t  &lct)etmSt  353 

Fac.    Is  Druggers  damaske,  there  ?  120 

And  the  tabacco  ? 

Sub.  Yes. 

Fac.    Give  me  the  keyes. 

Dol.  Why  you  the  keyes  ! 

Sub.    No  matter,  Dol :  because 
We  shall  not  open  'hem,  before  he  comes. 

Fac.    'Tis  true,  you  shall  not  open  them,  in- 
deed : 
Nor  have  'hem   forth.      Doe    you    see  ?     Not 
forth,  Dol. 

Dol.    No  !  125 

Fac.    No,  my  smock-rampant.    The  right  is, 
my  master 
Knowes  all,  has  pardon'd  me,  and  he  will  keepe 

'hem, 
Doctor,  'tis  true  (you  looke)  for  all  your  figures : 
I  sent  for  him,  indeed.  Wherefore,  good  partners, 
Both  hee,  and  shee,  be  satisfied  :   for,  here  130 

Determines  the  indenture  tripartite, 
'Twixt  Subtle,  Dol,  and  Face.     All  I  can  doe 
Is  to  helpe  you  over  the  wall,  o'  the  back-side; 
Or  lend  you  a  sheet,  to  save  your  velvet  gowne, 

Dol. 
Here  will  be  officers,  presently;  bethinke  you,  135 
Of  some  course  sodainely  to  scape  the  dock  : 
For  thether  you'll   come  else.     Harke       „      ,     , 

,  ,  come  knock. 

you,  thunder. 


354  Qtt)t  #lcljemisft  [act  v. 

Sub.  You  are  a  precious  fiend  ! 

Officer  [without] .    Open  the  dore. 

Fac.    Dol,   I  am  sorry  for  thee  i-faith ;  but 
hearst  thou  ? 
It  shall  goe  hard,  but  I  will  place  thee  some- 
where :  140 
Thou  shalt  ha'  my  letter  to  Mistris  Amo. 

Dol.    Hang  you 

Fac.   Or  Madame  Caesarean. 

Dol.    Poxe  upon  you,  rogue, 
Would  I  had  but  time  to  beat  thee. 

Fac.    Subtle, 
Let's  know  where  you  set  up  next  ;  I'll  send  you 
A  customer,  now  and  then,  for  old  acquaintance  :  145 
What  new  course  ha'  you  ? 

Sub.    Rogue,  I'll  hang  my  selfe  : 
That  I  may  walke  a  greater  divell,  then  thou, 
And  haunt  thee  i'  the  flock-bed,  and  the  buttery. 

[Exeunt.] 
Act  V.     Scene  V. 

[is«^r]  Love-wit  [in  the  Spanish  dress,  with  the 
Parson.  Loud  knocking  at  the  door  ;  about  which 
are  gathered]  Officers,  Mammon,  Surly,  Face, 
Kastril,  Ananias, Tribulation,  Drugger,  Da  [me] 
Pliant. 

[Lovewit.]    What  doe  you  meane,  my  mas- 
ters ? 

138  Sub.  Fi  Syb.  14a   Casarean,  QJmperiall. 


Scene  V]  Qfyt  Qit\)tmi$t  355 

Mammon.  Open  your  dore, 
Cheaters,  bawds,  conjurers. 

Officer.   Or  wee'll  breake  it  open. 

Lov.   What  warrant  have  you  ? 

Off.   Warrant  inough,  sir,  doubt  not : 
If  you'll  not  open  it. 

Lov.    Is  there  an  officer,  there  ? 

Off.    Yes,  two,  or  three  for  fayling. 

Lov.    Have  but  patience,  5 

And  I  will  open  it  straight. 

[ Enter  Face.~\ 

Fac.    Sir,  ha'  you  done  ? 
Is  it  a  marriage  ?   perfect  ? 

Lov.  Yes,  my  braine. 

Fac.    Off  with  your  ruffe,  and  cloake  then, 
be  your  selfe,  sir. 

Surly.    Downe  with  the  dore. 

Kastril.    'Slight,  ding  it  open. 

Lov.   \opening  the  door~\ .    Hold. 
Hold  gentlemen,  what  meanes  this  violence  ?        10 

[Mammon,  Surly,  Kastril,  Ananias,  Tribulation, 
and  Officers  rush  in.] 

Mam.   Where  is  this  colliar  ? 

Sur.    And  my  Captaine  Face  ? 

Mam.   These  day-owles. 

Sur.  That  are  birding  in  mens  purses. 


356  tEt)t  #lrt)Cmt0t  [ActV. 

Mam.    Madam  Suppository. 

Kas.    Doxey,  my  suster. 

Ananias.    Locusts 
Of  the  foule  pit. 

Tribulation.    Profane  as  Bel,  and  the  Dragon. 

Ana.   Worse  then  the  grasse-hoppers,  or  the 
lice  of  Egypt.  15 

Lov.   Good  gentlemen,  heare  me.     Are  you 
officers, 
And  cannot  stay  this  violence  ? 

Off.    Keepe  the  peace. 

Lov.   Gentlemen, what  is  the  matter?    Whom 
doe  you  seeke  ? 

Mam.  The  chymicall  cousoner. 

Sur.    And  the  Captaine  Pandar. 

Kas.  The  nun  my  suster. 

Mam.    Madame  Rabbi. 

Ana.    Scorpions,  20 

And  caterpillars. 

Lov.    Fewer  at  once,  I  pray  you. 

Off.  One  after  another,  gentlemen,  I  charge 
you, 
By  vertue  of  my  staffe 

Ana.   They  are  the  vessels 
Of  pride,  lust,  and  the  cart. 

Lov.  Good  zeale,  lie  still, 
A  little  while. 

1 3   suster,  F  sister. 

23  pride,  lust,  and  the  cart,  Q__shame,  and  of  dishonour. 


Scene  V.]  Qftt  QMfytmitlt  357 

Tri.    Peace,  Deacon  Ananias.  2; 

Lov.  The  house  is  mine  here,  and  the  dores 
are  open  : 
If  there  be  any  such  persons,  as  you  seeke  for, 
Use  your  authoritie,  search  on  o'  Gods  name. 
I  am  but  newly  come  to  towne,  and  finding 
This  tumult  'bout  my  dore  (to  tell  you  true)         30 
It   somewhat   maz'd    me ;    till    my   man,   here, 

(fearing 
My  more  displeasure)  told  me  he  had  done 
Somewhat  an  insolent  part,  let  out  my  house 
(Belike,  presuming  on  my  knowne  aversion 
From  any  aire  o'   the  towne,  while  there  was 

sicknesse)  35 

To  a  Doctor,  and  a  Captaine  :   who,  what  they 

are, 
Or  where  they  be,  he  knowes  not. 
Mam.    Are  they  gone  ? 
Lov.  You  may  goe  in,  and  search,  sir. 

tt  t    r      1  They  enter. 

Here,  1  hnd  J 

The   emptie    walls,   worse    then    I    left   'hem, 

smok'd, 
A  few  crack'd  pots,  and  glasses,  and  a  fornace,    40 
The  seeling  fill'd  with  poesies  of  the  candle  : 
And  madame,  with  a  dildo,  writ  o'  the  walls. 
Onely,  one  gentlewoman,  I  met  here, 
That    is    within,  that    said    shee  was    a    wid- 

dow 

32   Fi  and  Q  omit  he.      F2  gives  it. 


358  Wtyt  #Ul)emi0t  [Act  V. 

Kas.    I,  that's  my   suster.    I'll   goe  thumpe 

her.    Where  is  shee  ?  [Goes  in.~\    45 

Lov.    And    should    ha'    marryed    a    Spanish 
Count,  but  he, 
When  he  came  to't,  neglected  her  so  grosly, 
That    I,  a   widdower,  am   gone   through   with 
her. 
Sur.    How  !    Have  I  lost  her  then  ? 
Lov.   Were  you  the  don,  sir  ? 
Good  faith,  now,  shee  do's  blame  yo'  extremely, 

and  sayes  5° 

You  swore,  and  told  her,  you  had  tane  the  paines, 
To  dye  your  beard,  and  umbre  o'er  your  face, 
Borrowed  a  sute,  and  ruffe,  all  for  her  love  ; 
And  then  did  nothing.    What  an  over-sight, 
And  want  of  putting  forward,  sir,  was  this  !  55 

Well  fare  an  old  hargubuzier,  yet, 
Could    prime   his    poulder,  and    give   fire,  and 
hit, 

All   in  a  twinckling.  Mammon  comes 

Mam.    The  whole  nest  are  fled  !  f°rth- 

Lov.  What  sort  of  birds  were  they  ? 
Mam.  A  kind  of  choughes, 
Or  theevish  dawes,  sir,   that    have    pickt    my 

purse  60 

Of  eight-score,  and  ten  pounds,  within  these  five 

weekes, 
Beside  my  first  materialls  ;  and  my  goods, 


Scene  V.]  Qfyt  &\t\)tmi&t  359 

That  lye   i'  the  cellar :  which  I  am  glad  they 

ha'  left, 
I  may  have  home  yet. 

Lov.    Thinke  you  so,  sir? 
Mam.    I. 

Lov.    By  order  of  law,  sir,  but   not  other- 
wise. 65 
Mam.    Not  mine  owne  stuffe  ? 
Lov.    Sir,  I  can  take  no  knowledge, 
That  they  are  yours,  but  by  publique  meanes. 
If  you  can  bring  certificate,  that  you  were  gull'd 

of  'hem. 
Or  any  formall  writ,  out  of  a  court, 
That  you  did  cosen  your  selfe,  I  will  not  hold 

them.  70 

Mam.    I'll  rather  loose  'hem. 
Lov.    That  you  shall  not,  sir, 
By  me,  in  troth.    Upon  these  termes  they  'are 

yours. 
What  should  they  ha'  beene,  sir,  turn'd   into 
gold  all  ? 
Mam.    No. 
I  cannot  tell.    It  may  be  they  should.    What 
then  ? 
Lov.   What  a  great  losse  in  hope  have  you 

sustain'd  ?  75 

Mam.    Not  I,  the  common-wealth  has. 

63  ha'  left,  F  puts  a  period  after  this.     Q  gives  the  comma. 


360  tEtje  Q\t\)tnii$t  [act  v. 

Fac.    I,  he  would  ha'  built 
The  citie  new ;  and  made  a  ditch  about  it 
Of  silver,  should  have  runne  with  creame  from 

Hogsden  : 
That  every  Sunday  in  More-fields,  the  younk- 

ers, 
And  tits,  and  tom-boyes  should  have  fed  on, 

gratis.  80 

Mam.    I  will  goe  mount  a  turnep-cart,  and 

preach 
The  end  o'  the  world,  within  these  two  months. 

Surly, 
What !   in  a  dreame  ? 

Sur.    Must  I  needs  cheat  my  selfe, 
With  that  same  foolish  vice  of  honestie  ! 
Come  let  us  goe,  and  harken  out  the  rogues.         85 
That  Face  I'll   marke  for  mine,  if  ere  I  meet 

him. 
Fac.    If  I    can   heare  of  him,  sir,  I'll  bring 

you  word, 
Unto   your   lodging :    for    in    troth,  they   were 

strangers 
To  me,  I   thought  'hem   honest,  as  my  selfe, 

sir.  [ Exeunt  Mainmort  and  Surly.~\ 

Tri.    'Tis  well,  the  saints  shall       Thcy  vAnanias  and 

not  loose  all  yet.      Goe,  Tribulation']  come 

And  get  some  carts forth- 

Lov.    For  what,  my  zealous  friends  ? 


Scene  V]  &ty  &lrt)Cmt$t  361 

Ana.   To  beare  away  the  portion  of  the  right- 
eous, 
Out  of  this  den  of  theeves. 
Lov.    What  is  that  portion  ? 
Ana.    The   goods,  sometimes   the   orphanes, 
that  the  Brethren, 
Bought  with  their  silver  pence. 

Lov.   What,  those  i'  the  cellar,  95 

The  knight  Sir  Mammon  claimes  ? 

Ana.    I  doe  defie 
The  wicked   Mammon,  so  doe  all  the   Breth- 
ren, 
Thou   prophane    man,  I  aske  thee,  with  what 

conscience 
Thou  canst  advance  that  idol,  against  us, 
That  have  the  seale  ?    Were  not  the  shillings 

numbred,  IOo 

That   made  the  pounds  ?    Were  not  the  pounds 

told  out, 
Upon  the  second  day  of  the  fourth  weeke, 
In  the  eighth  month,  upon  the  table  dormant, 
The  yeere,  of  the  last  patience  of  the  Saints, 
Six  hundred  and  ten  ? 

Lov.    Mine  earnest  vehement  botcher,  105 

And  deacon  also,  I  cannot  dispute  with  you, 
But,  if  you  get  you  not  away  the  sooner, 
I  shall  confute  you  with  a  cudgell. 

99   idol,  Q  Nemrod. 

103  eighth,  Yz.      Eight,  Fi  and  Q^_ 


362  tElje  3\t\)tmi$t  [act  v. 

/Ina.    Sir. 

Tri.    Be  patient,  Ananias. 

Ana.    I  am  strong, 
And  will  stand  up,  well  girt,  against  an  host,      no 
That  threaten  Gad  in  exile. 

Lov.    I  shall  send  you 
To  Amsterdam,  to  your  cellar. 

Ana.    I  will  pray  there, 
Against  thy  house  :  may  dogs  defile  thy  walls, 
And   waspes,  and    hornets   breed    beneath  thy 

roofe, 
This  seat  of  false-hood,  and  this  cave  of  cos'n- 

age.       \_Exeunt  Ananias  and Tribulation?^  n5 

Lov.    Another  tOO  ?  Drugger   enters, 

Dru.    Not  I  sir,  I  am  no  Brother,     and  he  beau  him 
Lov.    Away  you  Harry  Nicholas, 

doe  you  talke  ? 
*Fac.    No,  this  was  Abel  Drugger. 

Good  sir,  goe,  *  To  the  Parson. 

And  satisfie  him  ;  tell  him,  all  is  done  : 
He  stay'd  too  long  a  washing  of  his  face.  i20 

The  Doctor,  he  shall  heare  of  him  at  West- 
chester ; 
And  of  the  Captayne,  tell  him,  at  Yarmouth : 

or 
Some  good  port-towne  else,  lying  for  a  winde. 

'[Exit  Parson.] 
If  you  can  get  off  the  angrie  child,  now,  sir 


Scene  V.]  I&ty  &U\)tmi8t  363 

[Enter  Kastril,  dragging  in  his  sister.~\ 

Kas.    Come  on,  you  yew,  you  have      To  his  sister. 
match'd  most  sweetly,  ha'  you  not  ? 
Did  not  I  say,  I  would  never  ha'  you  tupt 
But  by  a  dub'd  boy,  to  make  you  a  lady-tom  ? 
'Slight,  you  are  a  mammet !     O,  I  could  touse 

you,  now. 
Death,  raun'  you  marry  with  a  poxe  ? 

Lov.   You  lie,  boy  ; 
As  sound  as  you  :    and  I  am  afore-hand  with 

you.  130 

Kas.  Anone  ? 

Lov.   Come,  will  you  quarrell  ?    I  will  feize 
you,  sirrah. 
Why  doe  you  not  buckle  to  your  tooles  ? 

Kas.   Gods  light ! 
This  is  a  fine  old  boy,  as  ere  I  saw  ! 

Lov.   What,  doe  you  change  your  copy,  now  ? 
Proceed, 
Here  stands  my  dove  :   stoupe   at  her,  if  you 

dare.  135 

Kas.    'Slight,  I    must   love  him  !      I  cannot 
choose,  i-faith  ! 
And  I  should  be  hang'd  for't !      Suster,  I  pro- 
test, 
I  honor  thee,  for  this  match. 
Lov.    O,  doe  you  so,  sir  ? 


364  tElje  #le|)emi0t  [act  v. 

Kas.  Yes,  and  thou  canst  take  tabacco,  and 
drinke,  old  boy, 
I'll  give  her  five  hundred   pound  more,  to  her 

marriage,  140 

Then  her  owne  state. 

Lov.    Fill  a  pipe-full,  Jeremie. 
Fac.  Yes,  but  goe  in,  and  take  it,  sir. 
Lov.    We  will. 
I  will  be  rul'd  by  thee  in  anything,  Jeremie. 
Kas.    'Slight,  thou  art  not  hide-bound  !   thou 
art  a  jovy  boy  ! 
Come,  let's  in,  I  pray  thee,  and  take  our  whiffes.  145 
Lov.    Whiffe  in  with  your  sister,  brother  boy. 
[Exeunt  Kastril  and  Dame  Pliant. ,] 
That  master 
That  had  receiv'd  such  happinesse  by  a  servant, 
In  such  a  widdow,  and  with  so  much  wealth, 
Were  very  ungratefull,  if  he  would  not  be 
A  little  indulgent  to  that  servants  wit,  15° 

And  helpe  his  fortune,  though  with  some  small 

straine 
Of  his  owne  candor.    [Advancing.]    Therefore, 

gentlemen, 
And  kind  spectators,  if  I  have  out-stript 
An  old  mans  gravitie,  or  strict  canon,  thinke 
What  a  yong  wife,  and  a  good  braine  may  doe  :  155 
Stretch  ages  truth  sometimes,  and  crack  it  too. 
Speake  for  thy  selfe,  knave. 

144  jovy,  Fi  jovy'.  145   Qjimits  /. 


Scene  V.]  1£\)C  Q\t\)tmi$t  365 

Fac.   So  I  will,  sir.    \_Advancing  to  the  front  of 
the  stage, ,]    Gentlemen, 
My  part  a  little  fell  in  this  last  scene, 
Yet  'twas  decorum.    And  though  I  am  cleane 
Got  off,  from  Subtle,  Surly,  Mammon,  Dol,       ioo 
Hot  Ananias,  Dapper,  Drugger,  all 
With  whom  I  traded  ;  yet  I  put  my  selfe 
On  you,  that  are  my  countrey  :   and  this  pelfe, 
Which  I  have  got,  if  you  doe  quit  me,  rests 
To  feast  you  often,  and  invite  new  ghests.  165 

[Exeunt.] 


The  End. 


This  Comoedie  was  first 

acted,  in  the  yeere 

1610. 

By  the  Kings  Maiesties 

Servants. 

The  principall  Comoedians  were, 

RlC.   BVRBADGE.  IoH.   HEMINGS. 

Ioh.  Lowin.  "|    (  Will.  Ostler. 

Hen.  Condel.  >  <  Ioh.  Vnderwood. 

Alex.  Cooke.  )    V.  Nic.  Tooly. 

Rob.  Armin.  Will.  Eglestone. 


With  the  allowance  of  the  Master  of  Revells. 

F2  transfers  the  principall  Comoedians,  etc. ,  to  the  page  imme- 
diately preceding  that  on  which  the  Argument  is  printed,  and  omits 
the  other  matter. 


|j5oteg  to  €fte  &lcf)ettii£t 

IV.  denotes  TVhalley  ;  G.  Gifford;  and  C.  Cunningham.  Single 
•words  ivill  be  found  in  the  Glossary. 

It  would  be  rash  in  the  absence  of  clear  evidence  to  affirm  any 
given  definite  arrangement  of  scene  for  a  drama  of  the  time  of  Eliz- 
abeth or  James.  But  it  is  impossible  to  believe  that  Ben  Jonson, 
writing  in  the  year  preceding  the  retirement  of  Shakespeare,  could 
have  been  at  a  loss  to  represent  so  simple  a  scene  as  a  street  before 
a  house  and  the  interior  of  that  house  on  the  stage  at  one  and  the 
same  time,  especially  when  we  recall  Jonson's  experience  of  six  or 
eight  years  in  furnishing  masques  to  the  court,  elaborate  in  their 
scenery  and  stage  effects.  The  scene  at  the  first  performance  of 
The  Alchemist  was  doubtless  so  arranged  that  a  partition  representing 
the  outer  wall  of  a  house  divided  the  stage.  This  partition  was  pro- 
vided with  a  door  and  a  window  and  separated  the  exterior  from  the 
interior  of  Lovewit's  house.  The  greater  part  of  the  stage  must  have 
been  taken  up  with  the  interior  :  for  within  Lovewit's  house  the 
greater  part  of  the  action  takes  place.  But  space  was  left  in  the 
part  representing  the  street  for  the  little  crowd  which  congregates  in 
the  first  scene  of  the  last  act.  An  inner  room  was  indicated  by 
the  usual  doors  at  the  back  of  the  stage.  With  some  such  device 
as  this  The  Alchemist  could  have  been  acted  from  prologue  to  con- 
clusion in  absolute  unity  of  place  ;  and  several  of  the  situations  in 
consequence  heightened  in  their  effect. 

169.  Mary  La[dy]  Wroth,  the  daughter  of  Robert,  Earl 
of  Leicester,  a  younger  brother  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  Jonson's  Epi- 
gram 103  is  addressed  in  terms  of  respectful  praise  to  this  Lady, 
who  was  the  author  of  a  romance  entitled,  in  imitation  of  the  title 
of  the  Arcadia,   The  Countesse  of  Mountgomeries  Urania,  1 621. 

169,  5.  No  lesse  love  the  light,  etc.  No  less  love  the  light 
(of  your  virtue)  and  witness  (bear  witness  to  it)  than  they  have 
the  conscience  (knowledge)  of  it. 


368  jliotes 

171.  To  the  Reader.  Jonson  did  not  reprint  this  address  of 
the  quarto  of  1 612  in  the  folio.  Several  of  its  passages  will  be 
found  recast  in  Jonson's  prose  tract,  Discoveries,  1 640.  Cf.  the 
present  editor's  edition  of  that  book,  1892,  pp.  22,  26  and  else- 
where. 

173,  11.     Flat  bawdry,  with  the  stone.    The  stone 

was  a  crystal  or  mirror  in  which,  supposedly,  could  be  reflected  the 
acts  of  persons  at  a  distance.  Its  use  by  jealous  husbands  or  wives 
to  detect  the  wrong-doing  of  those  suspected  is  here  alluded  to  in 
baivdry. 

174,  13.  How  e'er  the  age,  etc.  G.  finds  a  parallel  to 
this  passage  in  the  introduction  to  Livy's  history. 

Act  I.  Scene  I.  In  printing  The  Alchemist,  Jonson  named 
the  characters  on  the  stage  at  the  beginning  of  each  scene  ;  and 
then  pursued  the  logical  process  which  regards  the  entrance  of  a 
new  personage  or  the  departure  of  one  already  on  the  stage  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  the  indication  of  a  new  scene.  The  usual  indica- 
tions of  entrance  and  exit  in  such  a  system  become  practically  un- 
necessary. In  deference  to  modern  usage,  however,  and  especially 
where  clearness  demands,  additional  stage  directions  are  given  in 
brackets.  All  changes  of  scene  —  and  they  are  wholly  the  work 
of  the  editors  —  have  been  relegated  to  the  notes.  The  stage  di- 
rections bracketed  in  Scene  I  were  first  added  by  Giffbrd.  There 
seems  no  reason  to  retain  his  direction  that  Face  enter  "  with  his 
sword  drawn." 

I7S>  '•  [Face.]  Jonson  never  repeats  the  name  of  the 
speaker  at  the  beginning  of  a  scene,  as  the  first  speaker  is  invariably 
the  person  whose  name  is  first  mentioned  as  present. 

175,  3.      Lick  figs.     Rabelais,  iv.  45. 

176,  16.  Three-pound-thrum,  probably,  as  C.  explains,  a 
worthless,  underpaid  servant,  as  the  customary  wage  for  a  man  ser- 
vant was  four  pounds  a  year.     See  Glossary  under  thrums. 

177,  25.  Pie-Comer.  The  Smithfield  end  of  the  present 
Giltspur  St.,  in  Jonson's  day  noted  chiefly  for  cooks'  shops  and  pigs 
dressed  there  during  Bartholomew  Fair. 

177,  31.  Artillerie-yard.  Between  the  west  side  of  Fins- 
bury  Square  and  Bunhill  Row.  The  line  is  probably  a  topical 
reference,    for    the  yard  was  the  drilling-place  of  the  Honorable 


j^otes  369 

Artillery  successfully  revived  in  1610.  Wealthy  citizens,  many 
country  gentlemen,  and  even  Prince  Charles  joined  the  ranks  ;  and 
the  King  gave  the  artillery  his  patronage. 

177,  38.  When  all  your  alchemy  could  not  relieve  your 
body  with  so  much  linen  as  would  make  a  fire  you  could  see,  even 
if  you  could  not  feel  it. 

178,  53.  Sell  the  dole-beere.  It  was  usual  to  distrib- 
ute, at  the  buttery-hatch  of  great  houses,  a  daily  or  weekly  dole  of 
broken  bread  (chippings)  and  beer  to  the  indigent  of  the  neighbor- 
hood.   G. 

178,  55.  Post  and  paire.  A  game  at  cards  depending 
largely  on  the  daring  of  the  player  in  his  "  adventure  on  the  vye," 
that  is,  his  bidding  on  the  excellence  of  his  hand.  Post  is  said  to  be 
derived  from  apostar,  to  place  in  the  hands  of  a  third  person  a  sum 
of  money  for  the  winner.  A  pair,  two  cards  of  a  kind,  was  one  of 
the  winning  points. 

179,  74.  Quarrelling  dimensions.  Cf.  note  on  the 
duello,  below,  p.  384. 

179,  79.  Flie  out  i'  the  projection,  an  equivalent,  in 
alchemical  jargon,  to  fail  at  the  last  moment,  when  success  is  at 
hand.    (Thayer. ) 

I79i  83-  Equi  clibanum,  an  oven  in  which  heat  is  gen- 
erated by  means  indicated  in  the  following  words. 

180,  93.  In  Paules.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  time  to  post 
notices  and  advertisements  on  the  pillars  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral, 
then  the  chief  place  of  common  resort. 

180,  94.  Cosning  with  a  hollow  cole,  the  conversion 
of  a  piece  of  beach-coal  into  silver  by  means  of  a  plug  of  that  metal 
concealed  at  the  ends  with  wax.  Cf.  Chaucer's  Chanouns  Temannes 
.   Canterbury   Talcs,  G.   1 1 60. 

180,  96.  Erecting  figures,  delineating  plans  of  the  posi- 
tion of  the  planets  tor  the  calculation  of  nativities. 

180,  97.  Taking  in  of  shaddowes,  with  a  glasse, 
a  mode  of  divination  by  means  of  a  globular  crystal  of  beryl,  com- 
monly about  the  size  of  a  large  orange,  in  which  the  speculatrix, 
who  must  be  a  virgin  of  pure  life,  beheld  with  second  sight  the 
figures  of  spirits,  and  heard  and  interpreted  their  responses  to  the  in- 
quirer into  the  supernatural.    W. 


37°  jpotes 

1 80,  98.  Told  in  red  letters,  conspicuously  placarded 
like  the  rubric  titles  of  the  day. 

l3o,  99.  Gamaliel  Ratsey,  a  notorious  highwayman,  who, 
according  to  Gifford,  robbed  his  victims  in  a  mask  of  repulsive  ugli- 
ness. See  The  Life  and  Death  of  Gamaliel  Ratsey,  and  Ratseys 
Ghoaste,  both  dating  1605.  Collier  reprinted  the  first  in  Illustra- 
tions of  Old  English  Literature,  1866,  vol.  III.  The  latter,  in 
which  Burbage  and  Shakespeare  are  referred  to,  is  described  by 
the  same  editor  in  his  Bibliographical  Account,  etc.,  1 866,  III. 
286. 

181,  106.  Lying  too  heavy  o'  the  basket,  i.  e.  eat- 
ing more  than  his  share  of  the  broken  provisions  collected  and  sent 
in  for  prisoners.     G. 

181,  112.  The  statute  of  sorcerie,  passed  in  1403,  and 
providing  that  "  None  from  henceforth  shall  use  to  multiply  gold 
or  silver,  or  use  the  craft  of  multiplication,  and  if  any  the  same  do, 
he  shall  incur  the  pain  of  felony."  This  statute  was  repealed  in 
1689  in  the  interest  of  the  famous  Robert  Boyle,  who  wished  to 
practise  the  art  of  alchemy  in  safety.  R.  Watson,  Chemical  Essays, 
ed.   1789,  I.  24.     C. 

182,  128.  Puritane,  in  Black-friers,  will  trust  .  .  . 
for  a  feather.  Blackfriars  was  noted  as  the  residence  of  Puritans, 
and  as  the  centre  of  the  feather  trade. 

183,  139-  Beginning  of  a  terme,  a  fruitful  season  for 
sharpers,  as  the  town  was  then  full  of  strangers  and  countrymen, 
come  up  to  London  to  attend  the  courts. 

184,  165.  Sin'  the  king  came  in.  Seven  years  before, 
in  1603. 

184,  167.    To  see  me  ride  .  .  .  eare-rent.   To  see  me 

carted  as  a  bawd  ;  and  you,  as  a  couple  of  rogues,  lose  your  ears  in  the 
pillory.     W. 

185,  170-174.  Don  Provost  .  .  .  most  worsted 
worship.  Dol's  facetious  names  for  the  hangman,  one  of  whose 
perquisites  was  the  suit  of  clothes  in  which  the  criminal  was  exe- 
cuted. The  quibbles  on  creivell  and  ivorsted  call  for  no  comment. 
See  Cotgra-ve  under  Pre-vost  des  marichaux. 

^5,  J75-  Claridiana,  one  of  the  incomparable  heroines 
of  that  interminable  romance  of  chivalry,  The  Mirrour  of  Princely 


jpoteg  371 

Deedes  and  Knighthood,  1 579,  continued  to  a  nnith  part  by 
1601. 

185,  180.  Giffbrd  adds  the  stage  direction,  exit  Dol,  making 
her  reenter  at  line  187.  This  is  unnecessary  if  we  conceive  the 
stage  so  set  as  to  represent  Lovewit's  house  within  and  without. 
Dol  peeps  through  a  window  from  behind  a  curtain. 

185,  188.    Though  we  breake  up  (in)  a  fortnight. 

186,  191.  In  Holbourne,  at  the  Dagger,  a  disreput- 
able ordinary  and  gambling-house,  especially  frequented  by  clerks  and 
apprentices. 

187,  6.  Lent  my  watch.  An  affectation  of  importance 
and  fashion,  as  watches  were  dear  and  coveted  by  those  who  wished 
to  be  thought  to  frequent  good  company.  See  Marmion's  The  Anti- 
quary, 1641,  I.  I,  ed.  1875,  P-  2°4- 

188,  17.  Reade's  matter.  One  Simon  Reade  of  South- 
wark  had  been  cast  in  a  suit  of  the  College  of  Physicians,  in 
1602,  for  practising  medicine  without  a  licence.  His  second  in- 
dictment, in  1608,  was  for  the  invocation  of  wicked  spirits  to  find 
the  name  of  one  that  had  stolen  money  of  one  Matthews.  Reade 
had  been  recently  pardoned  by  King  James.  W.,  quoting  Thomas 
Rymer,  Fcedera,  I  71 5,  XVI.  666. 

189,  46.  Clim-o'-the-Cloughs,  or  Claribels.  Clim 
was  one  of  the  associates  of  Robin  Hood  in  the  old  ballads  ; 
Claribel,  a  hero  of  romance. 

190,  47.    That  looke  as  bigge  .  .  .  and  flush.    That 

show  a  tell-tale  face  when  holding  fi-ve-and-flfty,  and  flush,  the 
highest  counts  at  primero. 

190,  56.  Greeke  Xenophon.  The  Quarto  reads  Testa- 
ment, which  Dapper,  as  a  lawyer's  clerk,  might  be  expected  to 
carry  about  with  him  in  his  pocket  for  the  administering  of 
oaths.  The  change  in  the  text  is  due  to  the  passing  of  the  statute 
3  Jac.  21,  1606,  which  provided  "  that  none  should  in  any  stage 
plav,  show,  maygame  or  pageant  profanely  use  the  name  of  God, 
Christ  Jesus,  the  Holy  Ghost,  or  Trinity,  in  pain  of  ^10,  to  be  di- 
vided between  the  King  and  the  prosecutor." 

190,  61.  Proud  stagge.  Face  alludes  to  Subtle's  broad 
velvet  astrologer's  cap,  which  he  likens  to  the  velvety  antlers  of  a 
stag. 


372  il^otrflf 

193,  i°9-  Dead  Holland,  living  Isaac.  Two  notori- 
ous alchemists  of  the  time.  W.  From  the  context  we  might 
judge  the  reference  as  applying  rather  to  two  notorious  gamesters. 

194,  112.  Put  ...  to  a  cloke,  i.  e,  strip  to  a  cloak, 
the  last  thing  a  gallant  parted  with  at  play  ;  because  with  his  cloak 
he  might  conceal  all  his  other  losses. 

195,  127.  Borne  with  a  caule,  a  prognostication  of 
good  fortune. 

I9S>  J37-  I-fac  'S  no  oath.  A  satire  on  the  Puritan 
evasion  of  swearing  by  lightened  asseverations.  Cf.  the  modern 
Gosh  for  God,  and  the  old  by  Cock' s  ivounds. 

197,  169.  Hum  .  .  .  buz.  Words  used  in  incantation, 
of  supposed  cabalistic  meaning.  Cf.  Selden,  Table  Talk,ed.  1892, 
p.  195. 

Act  I.  Scene  III.  Face  goes  out  with  Dapper;  Subtle, 
following  them,  meets  Drugger  and  a  number  of  women,  compre- 
hended under  the  words  neighbours  and  mutes  in  The  Persons  of 
the  Play,  who  have  congregated  about  the  door. 

198,  5.  Free  of  the  Grocers,  i.  e.  a  member  of  the 
guild,  no  longer  an  apprentice  under  indenture. 

109,  21.  The  description  of  Abel's  shop  which  follows  ap- 
plies to  the  better  druggists  and  tobacconists'  shops  of  the  day. 
Barnaby  Rich  in  The  Honestie  of  the  Age,  1614,  complains  of  the 
money  wasted  on  tobacco,  and  says  that  it  was  reported  that  more 
than  seven  thousand  houses  lived  by  the  trade  of  tobacco-selling  in 
London.     Percy  Society,  XI.  39. 

199,  31.     Fire  of  juniper.    See  Psalm  cxx.  3,  4.  C. 
J99)    32-     No  gold-smith,  *'.  f.  no  usurer.    Goldsmiths  were 

the  bankers  of  the  day  and  often  became  mere  money-lenders. 
The  earliest  London  Directory,  1 677,  contains  an  appended  list  of 
"all  the  goldsmiths  that  keep  running  cashes."    C. 

200,  36.  Of  the  clothing,  .  .  .  call'd  to  the  scar- 
let, i.  e.  this  summer  he  will  become  an  officer  in  the  Grocers' 
Company  and  wear  the  company's  livery,  and  next  year  become  a 
sheriff,  whose  gown  was  scarlet.  Cf.  Golding's  speedy  advance- 
ment in  Eastward  Hoe,  IV.  2,  p.  97. 

200,  48.  Spots  tOO,  in  his  teeth,  etc.  Whalley  found 
Jonson's  authority  for   these  details  of  the  fortune-teller's  art   in 


jliotea  373 

Girolamo  Cardano's  de  Subtilitate  lihrl  XXL,  published  first 
circa  I  550. 

201,  63.  Make  me  your  dore.  Cf.  Abbott,  Shake- 
spearian Grammar ,  §  220,  for  this  use  of  the  ethical  dative. 

201,  64.    On   the   east-side  .  .    .  write    Mathlai, 

etc.  Cf.  Heptameron  or  Magical  Elements  of  Peter  de  Abano, 
translated  by  Robert  Turner,  1655,  p.  123,  where  all  six  of  the 
"  mercurial  spirits  "  governing  Wednesday  are  named,  to  be  called 
from  the  two  quarters  indicated  by  Jonson  :  an  interesting  example 
of  Jonson's  scholarly  accuracy. 

202,  70.  The  rest,  they  '11  seeme  to  follow,  i.  e. 
deem  it  seemly  to  follow.  C.  Perhaps  the  dialect  use  of  seem  for 
think;   cf.  English  Dialect  Dictionary,  J.  Wright,  1902. 

202,  72.  A  puppet,  with  a  vice,  a  doll  that  moved  by 
mechanism. 

202,  79.  Give  a  say,  make  a  shrewd  attempt  at,  etc.  Cf. 
Poetaster,  Apologetical  Dialogue,  ed.  Cunningham's  Gifford,  II.  520. 

203>  95-  Crosse  out  my  ill-dayes.  In  the  old  almanacs 
days,  fortunate  or  unfortunate  for  buying  and  selling,  were  noted 
and  distinguished. 

205,  5.  Thorough  the  trunke,  i.  e.  through  a  tube 
which  would  distort  the  tone  like  a  speaking-trumpet. 

205,  14.  The  magisterium  .  .  .  the  stone.  See 
note  below,  on  lapis  philosophicus,  p.  380. 

Act  II.  Scene  I.  Gifford  places  this  scene,  which  he  ex- 
tends through  the  act,  in  "an  outer  Room  in  Lovewit's  House." 
This  is  unnecessary.  Mammon  and  Surly  enter  the  room  just 
vacated  by  Subtle  and  Face. 

207,  9.  The  hollow  die,  "  your  poised  dye,  That 's 
ballasted  with  quick  silver  or  gold,"  The  Ordinary,  I.  3.  Cf.  Every 
Alan  in  His  Humour,   III.    6. 

207,  16.  Velvet  entrailes,  for  a  rude-spun  cloke. 
"One  thing  I  cannot  forget,"  says  Purchas,  "that  in  prodigall 
excesse,  the  insides  of  our  clokes  are  richer  than  the  outsides." 
Microcosmus,   1 61 8,  p.   268. 

208,  33.  "  Lothbury,"  says  Stow,  "is  possessed  for  the 
most  part  by  founders,  that  cast  candlesticks,  chafing-dishes,  spice- 
mortars  and  such-like  copper  or  latten  works. ' '  Survey  of  Lon- 
don, ed.  1754,  I.  569. 


374  j^otes 

208,  36.   Make  them  perfect  Indies,  transmute  their 

tin  into  gold. 

200,  39.  Of  Mercurie,  etc.  These  old  terms  for  metals  are 
thus  explained  by  Chaucer's  Canon's  Yeoman  :  — 

Sol  gold  is,  and  Luna  silver,  we  threpe, 
Mars  yren,  Mercurie  quik-silver  we  clepe, 
Saturnus  leed,  and  Juppiter  is  tin, 
And  Venus  coper. 

Canterbury  Tales,  G.  826. 

210,  62.  Pickt-hatch,  literally  a  half-door,  the  grating  of 
which  is  armed  with  spikes.  Here,  as  in  The  Merry  Wi-ves,  II.  2, 
a  place  of  vile  resort. 

210,  64.  Nature,  naturiz'd.  The  Schoolmen  distin- 
guished between  Natura  naturans,  God  the  Creator ;  and  natura 
naturata,  the  universe  created. 

210,  69.  Fright  the  plague.  These  extravagant  praises 
of  the  power  of  the  aurum  potabile  put  into  the  mouth  of  Mammon 
are,  none  of  them,  mere  inventions  of  the  poet.  One  Dr.  Francis 
Anthonie  mentions  the  plague  expressly  as  one  of  the  diseases  cured 
by  him  with  this  remedy,  in  his  Medicina:  chymica  et  -veri  potabilh 
auri  assertio,  I 6 1  o. 

210,  71.  Players  shall  sing  your  praises.  The  law 
forbade  theatrical  performance  when  the  death  rate  from  the  plague 
reached  forty  per  week. 

210,  73.  So  much,  .  .  .  shall.  Note  the  omission 
of  the  relatival  conjunction  as,  and  see  Shakespearian  Grammar, 
\  281. 

210,  75.  His,  the  genitive  of  it.  Jonson  uses  the  then 
new  form,  its,  and  the  provincial  form  it  (genitive)  as  well  as  his. 
See  ibid.,  \  228. 

210,  76.  He  that  built  the  water-worke.  The  wa- 
ter-work of  Bevis  Bulmer  constructed  in  1595  to  convey  water  of 
the  Thames  to  the  middle  and  western  parts  of  the  city,  See  Stew, 
ed.  1754,  I.  27. 

211,  81.  Moses,  and  his  sister,  and  Salomon. 
"Fabricius,  in  his  valuable  account  of  ancient  books,  has  given  a 
collection  of  the  writers  on  chemistry."  Upton.  In  this  collec- 
tion Moses,  Miriam,  his  sister,  and  Solomon  are  cited.      So  like- 


J*OtC0  375 

wise  is  Adam.  Solomon  was  believed  to  have  been  possessed  of  the 
philosopher's  stone.  See  Ashmole,  Tbeatrum  Cbemicum  Britanni- 
cum,  1652,  p.  350. 

211,  84.  Did  Adam  write,  sir,  in  high-Dutch? 
"Joannes  Goropius  Becanus,  a  man  very  learned  .  .  .  fell 
theirby  into  such  a  conceyt,  that  he  letted  not  to  maintaine  it  [the 
Teutonic  tongue]  to  bee  the  first  and  most  ancient  language  in 
the  world  ;  yea,  the  same  that  Adam  spake  in  Paradise."  Rich- 
ard Verstegan,  alias  Rowlands,  Restitution  of  Decayed  Intelligence  in 
Antiquities  concerning  the  English  Nation,  1 605,  p.   190.     G. 

211,  88.  Irish  wood,  'gainst  cob-webs,  a  superstition 
that  ' '  no  spiders,  or  any  sort  of  nauseous  or  offensive  insects  will  ever 
breed  or  hang  about  it."  Ward,  The  London  Spy,  Pt.  VIII.  p. 
190.    C.  Irish  iuoo d  is  doubtless  bog-oak. 

211,  89.  Jasons  fleece.  This  rationalistic  explanation  of 
the  old  myth  is  found  in  Suidas,  Lexicon  (tenth  century),  s.  -v. 

212,  99.  Th'  alembeke.  Not,  as  now,  the  entire  distil- 
ling apparatus,  but  only  the  head  in  which  the  distilled  matter  was 
contained.     W. 

Act  II.  Scene  II.  The  action  is  continuous,  Mammon 
speaking  on  from  the  last  scene. 

212,  2-5.    Red,  .  .  .  crimson  .  .  .  projection.  Red 

was  the  last  color  reached  before  projection,  the  twelfth  and  last 
process.  It  was  also  called  the  sanguis  agni,  as  below,  line  29. 
Cf.  Norton,  Ordinall  of  Alchemic,  in  Ashmole,  as  above,  p.  90. 

213,  8.  Give  lords  th'  affront,  i.  e.  meet,  and  look 
them  in  the  face  ;  cut  them. 

2^3)  23-  Beech.  Alchemists  used  only  coal  made  of  beech 
wood. 

214,  26.  Pale  citron,  .  .  .  plumed  swan.  "These 
are  terms  of  art,"  says  Whalley,  "made  use  of  by  adepts  in  the 
hermetic  science,  to  express  the  several  effects  arising  from  the 
different  degrees  of  fermentation."  There  is  a  treatise  called  Tie 
Hunting  of  the  Greene  Lyon,  by  Andrews,  reprinted  by  Ashmole, 
p.  278. 

214,  29.  At  's  praiers.  See  11.  101-104  of  this  scene, 
and  note  on  Homo  frugi ,  1.  97. 

215,  42.     Oval  roome.    Cf.  Suetonius,  Tiberius,  c.  43. 


376  ^tffi 

2IS>  45-  My  glasses.  Cf.  Seneca,  Naturalium  Qucs- 
tionum  Liber  Primus,  Cap.  xvi. 

215,  58.    They  will  doe  it  best.    Cf.  Juvenal,  Satire  X. 

3°S-  „      . 

215,  60.     The   pure(tf),    and    gravest.     A   familiar 

Elizabethan  idiom.     Cf.  Measure  for  Measure,  IV.  6.   13. 

216,  75.  Tongues  of  carpes.  "The  tongues  of 
carps,"  says  Walton,  "are  noted  to  be  choice  and  costly  meat, 
especially  to  them  that  buy  them."  The  Complete  Angler,  Part  I. 
chap.  IV. 

216,  77.  ApicillS  diet.  Upton  has  traced  many  of  the 
delicacies  of  Mammon's  imagination  to  Lampridius,  in  his  Vita 
Heliogabali. 

217,  87.  Go  forth,  and  be  a  knight.  One  of  the 
innumerable  satirical  allusions  of  the  day  to  the  carpet  knights  of 
King  James.  Two  hundred  and  thirty-seven  were  knighted  in  a 
month  early  in  1603. 

217,  97.  Homo  frugi.  "The  true  hermetic  philoso- 
phers," says  Whalley,  "were  extremely  devout,  and  given  to 
prayer."  See  Ashmole,  p.  1 1 7.  The  pretenders  made  much  of 
this  feature. 

Act  II.  Scene  III.  Subtle  enters  in  his  alchemist's  gown, 
raising  the  curtain  which  discloses  the  room  containing  the  furnace 
within,  whither  Face  has  withdrawn  to  watch  the  alleged  ' '  pro- 
jection," now  all  but  complete. 

219,  30.  The  triple  soule,  the  glorified  spirit.  Cf. 
Norton's  Ordinall,  Ashmole,  Theatrum  Chcmicum,  p.  81  :  — 

By  meanes  of  a  treble  spirit, 
The  soule  of  man  is  to  his  body  knit, 
Of  which  three  spirits  one  is  called  vitall, 
The  second  is  called  the  spirit  naturall, 
The  third  spirit  is  spirit  animall. 

219,  32.  Ulen  Spiegel,  the  hero  of  a  German  jest  book, 
by  some  identified  with  a  notorious  rogue  who  lived  in  Saxony 
about  1480.  The  earliest  English  translation  of  this  book  was  that 
published  by  Copland  about  1528,  "a  merye  Jest  of  a  man  that 
was  called  Howleglas."    Jonson's  use  of  the  old  German  form  of 


#ote0  377 

the  word,  which  he  prints  in  the  folio  in  black  letter,  points  to  an 
acquaintance  with  the  German  version. 

219,35-66.  Aludels,  bolts-head,  gripes  egge.  See 
the  Glossary.  ' '  And  because  the  practisers  heereof  would  be  thought 
wise  and  learned,  cunning,  and  their  crafts  maisters,  they  have  de- 
vised words  of  art,  ( which  are  also  compounded  of  strange  and  rare 
simples)  as  confound  the  capacities  of  them  that  are  either  set  on 
work  heerein,  or  be  brought  to  behold  or  expect  their  conclusions." 
R.  Scot,  Disccrverie  of  Witchcraft,  1 5 84,  ed.  Nicholson,  p.  294. 

220,  44.  The  philosophers  wheele  concerned  the  tak- 
ing of  the  elements  in  "  rotacyon  "  so  that  the  substance  became 
successively  water,  earth,  air,  and  fire.  Ripley,  Compound  of  Alchy- 
mie,  Ashmole,  133.  These  terms  convey  to  Mammon  favorable 
signs  of  the  progress  of  the  work. 

220,  46.  Sulphur  o'  nature  is  formed  by  the  interaction 
of  the  central  fire  and  the  mercurial  vapor.  Works  of  Paracelsus, 
trans.,  Waite,  I.  297  ;  see  also  Ripley,  in  Ashmole,  p.  126. 

220,  49.  I  shall  employ  it  all,  in  pious  uses.  Nor- 
ton tells  of  a  "  lewd  monk  "  that  planned  the  founding  of  fifteen 
abbeys  with  the  stone  that  the  philosopher  was  to  discover  for  him. 
Ashmole,  p.  24. 

221,  61.  S.  Maries  bath,  balneum  Maria,  a  distillatory 
furnace.     Howell,  Lexicon  Tetraglotton,  ed.  1660. 

221,  62.  Lac  virginis.  See  Norton's  Ordinal/,  chap.  5, 
Ashmole,  77,  from  which  it  appears  that  "  water  of  litharge " 
mixed  with  "  water  of  azot  makes  lac  -virginis" 

221,  67.  The  ground  black  ;  and  see  below  (line  77), 
his  white  shirt  on.  Color  was  one  of  the  four  signs  in  alchemy. 
White  and  black  were  regarded  as  "colors  contrary  in  moste  ex- 
tremitie."  Norton,  p.  56.  Red  was  the  color  between  black  and 
white,  and  the  last  work  of  the  philosopher  ;  although  white  had 
its  virtues.     Cf.  ibid.  p.  87. 

222,  71.  The  hay  is  a  pitching.  To  pitch  a  hay  is  to 
stretch  a  net  before  rabbits'  burrows. 

222,  79.  Hermes  seale,  made  by  heating  the  neck  of  the 
vessel  and  then  twisting  it. 

222,  80.  Ferret.  Face,  from  working  the  furnace,  has  red 
eyes  like  a  ferret,  the  chief  enemy  of  the  coney  or  rabbit. 


378  j^otes; 

222,  83.    His  white  shirt  on.    See  above,  line  68. 

223,  88.  Bolted,  at  length  driven  out  by  the  ferret.  Surly  is 
still  dwelling  on  his  figure  of  the  rabbit-hay. 

224,  103.    In  balneo  vaporoso,  in  a  vapor  bath. 

225,  128.  Egges,  in  Egypt.  Cf.  Sandys  Travailes,  ed. 
1658,  p.  95,  for  an  interesting  account  of  artificial  incubation  in 
Cairo,  too  long  to  quote  here. 

227,  172.  Art  can  beget  bees.  This  doctrine  of  equivocal 
generation  was  one  of  the  strongest  arguments  in  favor  of  alchemy. 
Gifford  refers  the  student  to  the  Tbeutrum  Chemicum  for  the  sources 
of  this  speech  of  Subtle's,  as  well  as  Surly' s  rejoinder  below.  See 
especially  Ashmole' s  note,  p.  445  of  that  work. 

228,  187.    Oil  of  height,  highly  refined  oil. 

228,  188.  Your  marchesite,  etc.  These  terms  may  be 
found  by  the  curious  in  Norton's  Ordinall  and  Ripley's  Com- 
pound of  Alchemic    See  especially  Ashmole,  pp.  41,  43,  77,   and 

135- 

228,  192.  Your  red  man,  and  your  white  woman,  a 
constant  alchemical  figure  to  express  the  affinity  and  interaction  of 
chemicals.    Cf.  Norton,  in  Ashmole,  p.  90  :  — 

Candida  tunc  rubeo  jacet  uxor  nupta  marito, 
That  is  to  saie,  if  ye  take  heede  thereto, 
Then  is  the  faire  white  woman 
Married  to  the  ruddy  man. 

This  conjunction  is  called  by  Bloomfield,  in  his  Blossoms,  "  dipta- 
tive."     Ibid.,  p.  320. 

229,  208.  SisiphuS.  Authorities  differ  as  to  which  of  his 
many  crimes  entailed  on  Sisyphus  his  dreadful  punishment,  hence 
the  humor  of  Mammon's  remark. 

230,  223.  I  warrant  thee,  I'll  be  thy  warrant,  protect 
thee  from  thy  master's  anger. 

231,  230.  An  excellent  Paracelsian.  Paracelsus,  the 
notorious  German  alchemist,  died  in  1541. 

231,  235.  This,  i.  e.  Surly,  must  not  heare. 

23I>238-  Braughtons  workes.  Hugh  Broughton  was  a 
writer  on  the  Old  Testament  and  Hebrew  antiquities.  The  allusion 
must  have  made  a  hit  in  its  day,  as  Broughton's  obscurity  as  a  writer 


il*OtC0  379 

and  extravagant  opinion  of  his  own  importance  were  notorious. 
Broughton  died  in  1612. 

235,  297.  But,  by  attorney,  and  to  a  second  pur- 
pose. Surly  has  already  determined  upon  a  disguise  to  sound  the 
nature  of  the  place. 

237,  II.  Well  Said,  sanguine.  As  this  word  San- 
guine is  italicised  and  capitalized  in  both  early  editions,  it  may 
possibly  be  intended  for  a  proper  name,  and  equal  reddy,  the  boy 
that  took  the  part  of  Dol  wearing  a  red  wig,  appropriate  to  an 
Irish  costermonger's  daughter. 

239,  1.  Take  away  the  recipient.  These  and  the  fol- 
lowing words  are  addressed  to  Face,  the  cringing  "  drudge,"  in  tones 
of  severe  authority,  to  impress  Ananias. 

239,  4.  Terra  damnata,  grounds  or  refuse,  condemned  as 
impure  for  alchemical  purposes. 

239,  6.  A  faithfull  brother.  So  the  Puritans  called  each 
other.  Subtle  intentionally  misunderstands  Ananias  to  say  that  he, 
too,  is  an  alchemist. 

239.  7-  A  Lullianist  ?  a  Ripley !  Raymund  Lully 
was  a  famous  Spanish  philosopher  who  flourished  in  the  latter  half 
of  the  thirteenth  century  ;  George  Ripley,  an  adept  in  alchemy, 
wrote  a  poem  called  The  Compound  of  Alchemie,  dedicated  to  King 
Edward  IV.  and  reprinted  by  Ashmole  in  his  Theatrum  Chemicum 
Britannicum,  1 652.  FiliuS  artis  is  a  son  of  the  art  of  al- 
chemy, an  adept. 

239»  9-  Sapor  pontick,  sapor  stiptick.  Giffbrd,  quot- 
ing Norton,  Ordinal/  of  Alchemic,  Ashmole,  p.  74,  says,  "  'there 
be  nyne  sapors, '  all  of  which  he  adds,  '  maie  bee  learnde  in  halfe 
an  houre. 

'  So  is  the  sowerish  fast  called  sapor  pontic, 
And  lesse  sower  allso  called  sapor  stiptic'  " 

240,  15.    Heathen  Greeke,  I  take   it.   The  Puritans 

took  the  Old  Testament  for  their  guide.  The  scorn  of  Ananias  for 
Greek  is  not  improbably  due  to  popular  ignorance  among  the  Puri- 
tans that  any  part  of  the  scriptures  was  written  in  that  tongue. 

240,  19.  The  vexations,  and  the  martyrizations. 
The  curious  reader  will  find  the  more  important  of  these  words  of 


380  jjiotesi 

alchemical  jargon  in  the  Glossary.  Jonson's  use  of  them  is  accu- 
rate as  is  Jonson's  scholarship  everywhere. 

240,  27.  The  trine  circle  of  the  seven  spheres. 
In  astrology  a  trine  circle  was  one  of  120  degrees  or  the  third  of 
the  zodiac.  The  trine  was  a  benignant  aspect.  The  copy  of 
Ashmole's  Theatrum  Cbemicum,  1652,  the  property  of  the  Phila- 
delphia Library,  contains  an  ancient  diagram  drawn  in  ink  entitled 
"  ye  Figure  containing  all  the  secrets  of  ye  treatise  both  great  and 
small."  In  this  the  successive  processes  in  the  discovery  of  the 
philosopher's  stone  are  represented  in  a  series  of  spheres,  each 
contained  within  the  other,  and  working  outward  from  the  center 
which  contains  the  four  elements,  through  the  "  sphara  colorum 
principalium,  the  sphara  Mercurii,  Veneris  and  Lunae,  to  the 
sphara  So/is,  or  sphere  of  gold.  Doubtless  the  seven  spheres  have 
reference  to  the  seven  alchemical  metals.  The  connection  of  the 
trine  circle  does  not  appear  in  this  diagram. 

240,  28.  Passion  of  metalls,  the  susceptibility  of  metals 
to  impression  from  external  agents. 

240,  29.  Ultimum  supplicium  auri.  Literally,  the 
last  punishment  of  gold.  In  the  various  alchemical  processes,  calci- 
nation, sublimation,  separation,  etc.,  the  substances  are  frequently 
spoken  of  as  destroyed,  macerated,  or  killed,  hence  the  idea  of  the 
punishment  of  the  prima  materia  or  original  matter  of  metals  to 
relieve  it  of  its  crudities  till  the  residuum  become  pure  gold.  Cf. 
line  19,  above. 

241,  35.  Magisterium.  Cf.  the  following  note  and  the 
Glossary  under  this  word. 

241,  39.  Lapis  philosophicus.  Philosopher's  stone. 
According  to  Ashmole,  Prolegomena  to  his  edition  of  the  Tbeatrum 
Cbemicum,  it  appears  that  there  were  no  less  than  four  kinds  of  al- 
chemical stones.  The  mineral  stone,  which  had  "  the  power  of 
transmuting  any  imperfect  earthy  matter  into  its  utmost  degree  of 
perfection  ;  "  the  vegetable  stone,  by  means  of  which  the  natures 
of  men  and  beasts  may  be  known  ;  third,  the  magical  or  perspective 
stone,  by  the  aid  of  which  it  is  "  possible  to  discover  any  person  in 
what  part  of  the  world  soever,  although  never  so  secretly  concealed 
and  hid."  And  lastly  the  angelical  stone,  which  is  "  so  subtile  .  .  . 
that  it  can   neither    be  seen,   felt  or  weighed,  but  only  tasted." 


j£OtC0  381 

This  stone  affords  the  apparition  of  angels,  and  gives  power  of  con- 
versing with  them.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  text  is  a  ridicule  of 
the  pretensions  of  the  alchemists  as  to  this  last  variety  of  the  lapis 
pbilosopbicus. 

243,  80.  Sericon,  and  bufo.  Black  tincture  and  red. 
"These  terms  are  adopted  to  confound  and  terrify  the  simple 
deacon."   G.      But  see  the  Ordinall,  Ashmole,  p.  56. 

244,  2.  What  Baiards  ha'  wee  here.  Bayard,  the 
type  cf  chivalry  and  soldierly  bearing,  in  allusion  to  Face's  uniform 
and  Drugger's  "smart"  bearing. 

245,  20.  Whose  name  is  Dee.  Dr.  John  Dee,  of  Mort- 
lake,  appears  to  have  been  more  a  mathematician  and  astrologer  than 
an  alchemist,  although  his  association  with  Sir  Edward  Kelley  seems 
to  point  to  an  interest  in  alchemy.  Dee  was  held  in  high  regard 
by  many  eminent  men  of  his  time,  among  them  Sir  Francis  Wal- 
singham.  He  was  consulted  as  to  an  auspicious  day  for  the  corona- 
tion of  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  received  not  a  few  favors  at  her  hands. 
The  reference  of  the  text  is  to  Dee  clad  in  his  astrological  gown  of  rug, 
in  which  guise  he  appears  on  the  title-page  of  one  of  his  works.  See 
the  account  of  Dee  by  Ashmole,  pp.  478  ff,  and  his  Diary ,  re- 
printed by  the  Camden  Society,  1842. 

245,  22.  A  dog  snarling  er.  "  R,"  says  Jonson  in  his 
English  Grammar,  folio  1640,  p.  47,  "is  the  Dogs  Letter,  and 
hurreth  in  the  sound." 

245,  24.  Here  *s  now  mysterie,  and  hierogly- 
phick.  An  excellent  take-off  of  popular  superstitions,  by  no  means 
confined  to  Jonson's  age  and  country.  Many  of  the  signs  of  the  day 
were  made  up  of  anagrams  and  rebuses.  See  on  the  general  subject, 
Camden's  Remaines  concerning  Britaine,  ed.   1 870,  p.   182. 

245,  26.  Sixe  o'  thy  legs  more,  six  more  bows  is  not 
more  than  a  sufficient  courtesy  for  the  Doctor's  care  and  ingenu- 
ity in  devising  such  a  sign. 

248,  61.    To  learne  to  quarrell.   Cf.  duello,  p.  384. 

249,  91.  Want  graines,  be  wanting  in  weight,  be  a  light 
woman.  The  grain  or  smallest  possible  weight  is  here  contrasted 
with  the  "whole  in  the  succeeding  line. 

Act  III.  Scene  I.  Gifford  places  this  scene  in  "the  Lane 
before  Lovewit's  House."    It  takes  place  before  Lovewit's  door, 


382  $L0tC8 

which,  with  the  one  scene  of  the  whole  play  arranged  as  explained 
above,  is  obvious  and  simple  and  maintains  unity  of  place. 

Act  III.    Scene  II.    A  Room  in  Lovewii' s  House.     G. 

253)  3-  Furnus  acedise,  si-ve  incuria,  is  an  oven  of  neg- 
lect or  lack  of  care,  /'.  e.  an  oven  which  requires  little  labor  to  keep 
hot.  Turris  circulatorius  is  a  glass  vessel  in  which  liquid 
poured  in  ascends  and  descends  with  a  rotary  motion  and  is  thus 
thoroughly  mixed. 

255>  3°-  Oyle  of  talek,  /.  e.  of  talc.  "  It  maketh,"  says 
Fuller,  "a  curious  white-wash,  which  some  justify  lawful,  because 
clearing,  not  changing,  complexion."  Worthies  of  England,  ed. 
1840,  III.  239.  , 

255>  43-  Christ-tide,  I  pray  you,  a  Puritan  substitu- 
tion to  avoid  the  Popish  word  mass. 

256,  55-  Suck  up  your  ha,  and  hum,  in  a  tune, 
in  allusion  probably  to  the  unlearned  and  unprofessional  singing  of 
Puritan  congregations. 

256,  61.  Bells  are  prophane.  Ananias  has  failed  to 
understand  anything  that  Subtle  is  saying  ;  but  to  show  his  zeal 
catches  at  the  word  bell. 

257>  79-  Whether  a  Christian  may  hawke,  etc. 
The  Puritans  much  affected  scruples  all  but  equally  trivial  with 
those  of  the  text. 

257,  82.     That   idoll,  starch,  about  their  linnen. 

"They  have  great  and  monsterous  ruffes,  made  either  of  cam- 
brick,  holland,  lawn,  or  els  of  some  other  the  finest  cloth  that  can 
be  got  for  money,  whereof  some  be  a  quarter  of  a  yard  deep.  .  .  . 
The  devil,  as  in  the  fulness  of  his  malice  first  invented  these 
great  ruffes,  so  hath  hee  now  found  out  also  two  great  stayes  to 
beare  up  and  maintaine  that  his  kingdome  of  great  ruffes  .  .  .  the 
one  arch  ...  is  a  certaine  kinde  of  liquid  matter  which  they 
call  Starch,  wherin  the  devill  hath  willed  them  to  wash  and  dive 
his  ruffes  wel,  which  when  they  be  dry  wil  then  stand  stiffe  and 
inflexible  about  their  necks."  Stubbs,  Anatomie  of  Abuses,  1583, 
New  Shakspere  Society'' s  Publications,  1877-79,  p.  51.  Starch 
s cms  first  to  have  been  introduced  into  England  for  this  purpose  by 
a  Hutch  woman  in  I  564.  It  fell  into  disrepute  after  the  execution 
of  the  notorious  Mrs.  Turner  —  an  accomplice  in  the  murder  of 


Sir  Thomas  Overbury  —  in  a  ruff,  stiff  with  a  yellow  starch  of  her 
own  invention. 

257,  87.  And  shorten  so  your  eares,  by  incurring  the 
penalty  of  having  them  lopped  as  a  punishment  for  libel. 

258,  89.  Raile  against  playes,  to  please  the  alder- 
man, in  allusion  to  the  long-standing  quarrel  between  the  players 
and  the  Puritan  city  fathers. 

258,  95-  The  whole  family,  or  wood  of  you.  Jonson 
is  fond  of  this  use  of  the  word  wood  to  express  the  material  in  an 
unformed  state  out  of  which  anything  may  be  made.  Cf.  his  Pre- 
face to  the  Reader,  U'iderivoods,  and  the  Latin  note  preceding  his 
Discoveries. 

258,  102.  O,  but  the  stone,  all's  idle  to  it!  no- 
thing (is  equal  to  it)  !    Neither  the  art  of  angels,  etc. 

260,  138-139.  Ignis  ardens,  a  hot  fire,  is  contrasted 
with  the  "  lenter  (or  slower)  heats"  of  line  140.  With  fimus 
equinus,  horse  dung,  cf.  ejui  clibanum,  Act  I.  Scene  II.  83, 
above.  Balnei,  baths,  cineris,  ashes,  all  are  earlier  stages  in 
the  search  for  the  philosopher's  stone. 

261,  150.  We  know  no  magistrate,  "the  [extreme] 
Puritans  rejected  all  human  forms  of  government  as  carnal  ordi- 
nances ;  and  were  for  establishing  a  plan  of  policy,  in  which  the 
scripture  only  was  to  be  the  civil  code."    W. 

261,  Exeunt  Tribulation  and  Ananias  at  the  door 
leading  to  the  inner  room  where  are  Subtle' s  furnace  and  his  ma- 
terials.   Face  enters  at  the  front  door,  as  from  the  street. 

Act  III.     Scene  III.    Not  recognized  by  Gifford. 

262,  8.  Black  boy,  rascal,  scoundrel.  Cf.  Every  Man  in 
His  Humour,  I.  I  :  "  O,  he's  a  black  fellow  j  "  and  Horace,  Sa- 
tires II.  4.  85. 

263,  18.  Our  cinque-port,  the  English  strongholds  on  the 
southern  coast  against  France,  at  this  time,  Dover,  Sandwich,  Rom- 
ney,  Hastings,  and  Hithe. 

263,  24.  John  Leydens.  Leyden  was  a  famous  Anabaptist 
leader,  put  to  death  in  1536. 

258,  12.    As  he  likes,  when  he  pleases. 

269,  22.  Take  tabacco.  The  taking  or  "drinking"  of 
tobacco,  as  it  was  often  called,  was  an  essential  accomplishment 


384  jftotcs 

of  the  gentlemen  of  the  day.  Dekker,  discoursing  of  the  ways  of 
the  gallant,  says  :  "  And  heere  you  must  observe  to  know  in  what 
state  tobacco  is  in  towne,  better  then  the  merchants,  and  to  dis- 
course of  the  apottecaries  where  it  is  to  be  sold,  .  .  .  then  let  him 
shew  his  severall  tricks  in  taking  it,  as  the  nhiffe,  the  ring,  etc." 
The  Guls  Horne-booke,  Elizabethan  Pamphlets,  1 892,  p.  252. 

269,  25.  The  duello.  This  passage  at  once  suggests 
Touchstone's  delightful  words  beginning,  "O  sir,  we  quarrel  in 
print,  by  the  booke."  There  seem  to  have  been  several  treatises 
of  this  kind  well  known  to  the  Elizabethans.  Theobald  mentions 
Lewis  de  Caranza's  Treatise  of  Fencing,  Vincentio  Saviola's  Prac- 
tise of  the  Rapier  and  Dagger,  and  Giacomo  di  Grassi's  Art  of 
Defense.  Even  nearer  to  the  absurdity  of  this  passage  and  the 
foolery  of  Touchstone  must  have  been  The  Books  of  Honor  and 
Armes,  ivherein  is  discoursed  the  Causes  of  Quarrel!,  and  the  nature 
of  Injuries,  with  their  Repulses,  etc.,  1590.  See  the  note  on  As 
You  Like  It,  97  :  v.  4,  92,  The  Neiv  Variorum  Shakespeare, 
p.  274. 

269,  39.    But  never  in  diameter,  i.  e.  "  the  lie  direct." 

272,  90.  Commoditie.  Cf.  Eastward  Hoe,  II.  2,  and  the 
note  thereon,  p.  151. 

273>  JI3-  Had  ...  to  Supper.  See  Shakespearian 
Grammar,  §   189. 

274,  132.  I  goe.  As  Kastril  says  this,  Face  civilly  attends 
him  to  the  door 5  and,  turning  back,  nudges  Drugger,  who  is  fol- 
lowing, with  the  words  :  "  She  's  thine  ;  "  calling  after  him,  as 
he  in  turn  goes  out,  "  the  damaske  !  "  Then,  as  Face  crosses 
the  stage  to  Dapper,  he  remarks  to  himself,  "Subtle  and  I  must 
wrastle  for  her  ;  "   and  finally  calls  to  Dapper,  "  Come  on." 

275,  145.  Twentie  nobles  at  six  shillings  and  eight- 
pence  each,  amount  to  the  sum  of  six  pounds  thirteen  shillings  and 
fourpence,  which  sum  the  other  pieces  make.  The  Harry  sov- 
ereign was  a  half  sovereign  only,  and  valued  at  ten  shillings.  Face 
wanted  the  other  noble  in  Maries,  because  the  money  was  coined 
in  the  several  successive  reigns  of  Henry,  Edward,  Elizabeth, 
and  James  ;  so  that  Mary's  being  left  out  made  a  chasm  in  the 
account.    W. 

Act   III.    Scene  V.    The  action  of  this  scene  is  somewhat 


jliotcsf  385 

thus  :  Dol  plays  the  cittern,  while  Face  and  Subtle,  speaking  now  as 
fairies,  now  in  explanation  of  the  fairies'  words,  pinch  the  blind- 
folded Dapper.  From  time  to  time  Dol  "scouts"  at  the  window. 
As  Face  returns  Dapper  his  "leaden  heart,"  Dol  attracts  the 
former's  attention  and  reports  the  approach  of  Mammon.  Dol 
then  fetches  Face  his  suit  as  Lungs  and  helps  him  on  with  it, 
while  he  is  speaking  through  the  key-hole  to  Mammon  ;  and  mean- 
time Subtle  continues  the  deception  of  Dapper,  whom  he  leads  off 
to  his  ' '  place  of  durance  vile, ' '  as  Dol  runs  away  to  dress  as  the 
mad  Lady. 

Act  IV.    Scene  I.    A  Room  in  Loveivit's  House.    G. 

283,  14.  How  scrupulous  he  is.  Cf.  Norton,  in  his 
Ordinall  of  Alchemie,  Ashmole,  p.  94:  — 

While  thei  worke  thei  must  needes  eschewe, 
All  ribaudry,  els  thei  shal  finde  this  trewe, 
That  such  mishap  shall  them  befall, 
Thei  shal  destroy  part  of  their  works  or  all. 

283,  23.  Moderne  happinesse,  "a  sort  of  happiness  on 
a  small  scale."  C.  More  probably  modern  in  the  Shakespearian 
sense,  trite,  common. 

284,  35.  My  lip  to  you,  sir.  It  was  the  custom  even 
for  modest  women  to  offer  their  lips  to  be  kissed  as  a  recognition  of 
equality.  There  are  many  allusions  to  this  custom  in  its  use  and 
abuse  in  the  literature  of  the  time.  See  especially  Marston's  Dutch 
Curtezan,  III.   1,  ed.   1856,  II.   144. 

285,  56.  One  o'  the  Austriack  princes.  The  princes 
of  the  house  of  Hapsburg  were  noted  for  "a  sweet  fulness  of  the 
lower  lip,"  otherwise  described  as  a  heavy,  protruding  under  jaw 
and  thick,  hanging  under  lip.  The  Valois  nose  was  arched  and 
Roman. 

287,  84.    And  distillation,  astrology  and  chemistry. 

287,  90.  Edward  Kelley,  or  Talbot,  a  notable  alche- 
mist of  the  sixteenth  century,  who  pretended  to  have  discovered 
the  philosopher's  stone.  He  was  patronized  by  the  Emperor,  Ru- 
dolph II.,  at  Prague.  His  impostures  becoming  known,  he  was 
imprisoned  and  lost  his  life  in  attempting  to  escape.  Kelley  was 
associated  at  one  time  with  Dr.  Dee,  mentioned  above,  and  one 


386  ii^otesf 

Zaski,  a  young  Pole.  Giffbrd  surmises  that  this  trio  afforded  Jon- 
son  the  suggestion  for  his  trio,  Subtle,  Face,  and  Dol.  See  Kelley's 
Works,  translated  from  the  Hamburg  edition  of  1676  into  English, 
London,   1893. 

289,  122.  Master  of  the  maistrie,  i.  e.  of  the  magis- 
terium,  as  the  great  work  of  discovering  the  philosopher's  stone 
was  called  when  brought  to  perfection. 

289,  131.  This  nooke,  here,  of  the  Friers.  Lovewit's 
house  was  situated  in  the  precinct  of  Blackfriars. 

29°»  x53-  In  a  loth'd  prison.  Counterfeiters  were  com- 
monly punished  by  being  made  to  labor  at  their  art  in  prison  for 
the  king.    Cf.  Note  on  In  the  Toiver,  p.  389. 

Act  IV.  Scene  II.  Giffbrd  does  not  recognize  this  division. 
At  the  beginning  of  this  scene,  Kastril  and  his  sister  enter  and  eye 
the  door ;  Subtle  sees  them  from  the  window  and  sends  Face  to  the 
door  to  let  them  in. 

292,  6.  O,  for  a  suite,  i.  e.  his  captain's  suit  for  which 
he  is  compelled  to  go  out,  while  Subtle  receives  the  lady. 

294,  43.  In  rivo  front  is.  Giffbrd  refers  us  to  Girolamo 
Cardano's  Metoposcopia,  a  treatise  on  chiromancy  first  published 
about  1570,  for  these  terms  of  art,  remarking  :  "  The  variety  and 
extent  of  Jonson's  reading  are  altogether  surprising  ;  nothing  seems 
to  have  been  too  poor  and  trifling,  too  recondite  and  profound, 
for  his  insatiable  curiosity  and  thirst  for  knowledge." 

295>  53-  Kusse  her.  Cf.  this  form  of  the  word  kiss  with 
Kastril's  pronunciation  suster. 

295>  55-  I,  peace.  I  heard  it.  Kastril  draws  Dame  Pli- 
ant aside,  and  Face,  who  has  peeped  out  at  the  window  as  he  came 
in  and  seen  the  disguised  Surly  coming,  now  takes  up  the  dialogue 
with  Subtle. 

Act  IV.    Scene  III.    Scene  I.  continued  by  Giffbrd. 

298,  20.  Don  Jon  !  "  It  appears  from  Cynthia  s  Re-vels, 
IV.,  1,  that  the  'battle  of  Lepanto  '  formed  the  subject  of  tap- 
estry-work in  Jonson's  time  ;  and  we  may  be  pretty  confident  that 
Don  John  of  Austria,  the  fortunate  hero  of  the  day,  was  pourtrayed 
in  it  with  features  of  the  most  formidable  grandeur.  To  some  star- 
ing representation  of  this  kind,  Subtle  probably  alludes."    G. 

298,   21.      Sennores,    etc.,  the  usual    Spanish   salutation, 


j^otes  387 


Gentlemen,  I  kiss  your  hands.      The  folio  prints  nn  for  n  (n  con 
tilde)  everywhere. 

298,  27.  Beneath  the  souse,  and  wriggled  with 
a  knife.  Ornamented  with  slashes  of  the  butcher's  knife  under 
the  ear. 

299,  30.  Don,  your  scirvy,  yellow,  Madrid  face 
is  'welcome.  The  humor  of  this  scene  consists,  of  course,  in 
tlie  mock  gravity  and  ceremonial  courtesy  with  which  Face  and 
Subtle  utter  words  so  foreign  to  their  actions.  There  is,  besides, 
the  pervading  irony  of  the  situation,  as  Surly  really  understands 
them. 

299>  33-  Deep  sets,  i.  e.  the  deep  plaits  of  his  ruff.  The 
enormous  ruffs  of  the  Spaniards  and  the  mischief  that  was  alleged 
to  lie  concealed  in  them  is  a  common  pleasantry  of  the  drama- 
tists. 

299,  34.    Por  dios,  etc.    Gad,  sirs,  a  very  pretty  house. 

299,  40.    Entiendo.     /  understand. 

300,  47.  Con  licencia,  etc.  If  you  please,  may  I  see  this 
lady. 

301,  61.   Entiendo  que  la  sennora,  etc.    /  hear  the 

lady  is  so  handsome  that  I  am  anxious  to  see  her  as  the  most  fortu- 
nate circumstance  of  my  life. 

302,  78.  Sennores,  porque,  etc.  Gentlemen,  -why  this 
long  delay  ! 

302,  80.  Puede  ser,  etc.  Perhaps  you  are  making  sport  of 
my  love. 

302,  91.   Por  estas  honradas  barbas.    By  this  honored 

beard. 

3°3>  92-  TengO  duda,  etc.  I  fear,  gentlemen,  that  you 
are  about  to  play  me  some  foul  trick.  Gifford  refers  to  the  Poenulus 
of  Plautus,  as  probably  suggesting  to  Jonson  this  scene. 

Act  IV.  Scene  IV.  "Scene  II.  Another  Room  in  the 
same. ' '    G. 

304,  9.  Your  Spanish  Stoupe,  evidently,  as  C.  ex- 
plains, a  stoop  or  mode  of  carrying  the  body.  Garbe  below  is,  then, 
as  commonly  in  Jonson,  mode,  fashion.  Cf.  Sejanus,  I.  I.:  Cor. 
Here  comes  Sejanus.  5/7.  Now  observe  the  stoops,  The  bendings 
and  the  falls. 


388  J>Ote0 

305,  29.     Never  sin'  eighty-eight  could  I  abide 

'hem,  i.  e.   since  the  year  of  the  Armada.      Dame   Pliant  is  a 
true-born  Englishwoman.    G. 

305,  33.  Crie  straw-berries,  sink  in  station  and  poverty 
to  a  market  woman. 

306,  47.  Th'  Exchange,  Bet'lem,  the  China- 
houses.  Places  of  common  resort,  the  first  from  the  shops  which 
it  contained.  Bet'lem,  the  madhouse  in  St.  George  Fields,  was 
frequently  visited  by  parties  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  "  to  see  what 
Greeks  are  within."  China-house  was  evidently  a  shop  for  the 
sale  of  East  Indian  wares.  In  later  times  a  china  house  became 
equivalent  to  a  place  of  assignation. 

3°7>  53*  Que  es  esto,  etc.  Hoiv  is  this?  She  doesn't 
come,  sirs  ?  this  delay  kills  me. 

307,  56.    En  gallanta,  etc.    Gibberish  of  Face's. 

3°7>  SI-  Por  todos,  etc.  By  all  the  gods,  the  most  perfect 
beauty  I  ever  saiv. 

307,  62.  Court-liest  language.  This  rude  pun  was  not 
lost  on  the  provincial  tongue  of  Kastril. 

307,  63.  El  SOl,  etc.  The  sun  has  lost  its  light  "with  the 
splendor  which  this  lady  brings. 

308,  69.  Por  que  no  Se  acude.  Why  don  t  you  dratu 
near  ? 

308,  71.  Por  el  amor,  etc.  For  the  lo-ve  of  God,  why  this 
delay  ? 

308,  76.  Sennora  mia,  etc.  Madam,  I  am  -very  un- 
worthy to  approach  such  beauty. 

309,  80.  Sennora,  si  sera,  etc  Madam,  at  your  ser- 
vice, let  us  enter. 

"  I  have  corrected  the  language,"  says  Gifford,  "which  Whalley 
appears  not  to  have  understood,  and  which  Jonson,  or  his  printer, 
had  in  more  than  one  place  confounded."  I  find  that,  save  for  the 
separation  of  a  word  or  two  and  the  suppression  of  the  accents, 
Gifford  has  made  but  one  change  in  the  Spanish  of  these  passages, 
the  use  of  n  (»  con  tilde)  for  the  double  nn  of  the  text. 

309,  83.  Give  Dol  the  word,  to  begin  her  counterfeit 
raving  of  the  next  scene. 

309,  92.    Erection  of  her  figure.    To  erect  one's  figure 


#otes  389 

was  to  make  his  horoscope,  that  is,  determine  the  positions  of  the 
stars  at  his  birth  and  tell  his  fortune  thereby. 

Act  IV.    Scene  V.    "  Scene  III,  Another  Room  in  the  same." 

G. 

312,  36.  Out  of  Broughton  !  "Literally  out  of  his 
Concent  of  Scripture,   [1590.]  "     G. 

Act  IV.  Scene  VI.  "Scene  IV,  Another  Room  in  the 
Same."    G. 

319,  20.  Donzell,  me  thinkes  you  look  melan- 
cholike.  Subtle  is  alluding  ironically  to  Surly  as  Donzello  del 
Phebo,  a  hero  of  the  Mirror  for  Knighthood.   C. 

319,  23.  Upsee  Dutch,  op  zijn  Dutch,  in  the  Dutch 
fashion.    Cf.  upsee  Freese,  in  the  Frisian  manner. 

Act  IV.  Scene  VII.  Not  recognized  as  a  separate  scene 
by  GifFord.  The  action  of  this  scene  requires  that  Face  keep  close 
to  Kastril,  egging  him  on  with  his  promptings,  "a  very  errant 
rogue,"  "the  impudent'st  raskall,"  spoken  so  that  Surly  cannot 
clearly  make  out  what  he  is  saying.  When  Surly  says,  "Lady, 
doe  you  informe  your  brother,"  Dame  Pliant  crosses  the  stage  to 
Kastril  and  tells  him,  in  dumb  show,  what  she  has  heard  from 
Surly.  Face  continues  his  promptings  to  Kastril,  casting  an  aside, 
"  beare  up,"  to  Subtle,  who  is  crestfallen  after  his  rough  handling 
by  Surly  and  still  in  his  grasp.  Kastril  then  takes  up  the  dialogue, 
answering  his  sister,  "  Away,  you  talk  like  a  foolish  mauther  ;  " 
and  as  Kastril  is  again  about  to  take  up  the  quarrel,  Abel  enters. 

325,  63.    Prevented  us,  anticipated  us. 

326,  71.  Subtle  hath  whisperd  with  him,  /'.  t.  with 
Ananias,  while  Face  was  arranging  matters  with  Drugger. 

326,  71.  Hieronymo's  old  cloake.  Hieronymo  was  the 
hero  of  Kyd's  Spanish  Tragedy,  the  most  popular  play  of  its  day, 
about  the  time  of  the  Armada.  It  was  much  ridiculed  by  later  dra- 
matists.   Cf.  several  mentions  in  Eastward  Hoe. 

326,  81.   In  the  Tower  ...  to  make  gold  there 

for  the  State.  The  mint  was  situated  from  very  earlv  times  in 
the  Tower  ;  Stow,  as  above,  I.  101.  Ashmole  relates  that  the  al- 
chemist Lully  made  gold  there  for  King  Edward  III.  by  means  of  the 
philosopher's  stone.  Lully  was  certainly  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower 
for  a  time.     Theatrum  Chemicum,  pp.  443,  467. 


390  jliotea 

329,  116.   While  there  dyed  one  a  weeke,  within 

the  liberties,  i.  e.  while  one  person  per  week  died  of  the  plague. 
The  liberties  were  the  outlying  districts  of  the  city  beyond  the 
walls. 

Act  V.  Scene  I.  Gifford  adds  "  Before  Lovewit's  door," 
as  the  scene.  According  to  the  single  setting  of  the  scene,  already 
suggested,  no  change  is  necessary. 

331,  6.  Another  Pimlico,  a  resort  near  Hogsden,  "noted 
for  its  cakes  and  ale,"  says  Whalley.  C.  mentions  a  pamphlet 
called  Pimlyco  or  Runn  Red  Cap,  'tis  a  mad  ivorld  at  Hogsdon, 
1609. 

332,11.    Teaching  i'  the  nose.    Perhaps  ventriloquism. 

332,  14.  Puppets.  Puppet  plays,  variously  called,  motions, 
or  drolleries,  were  very  common  from  the  earliest  times.  In  Jonson's 
Bartholomew  Fair  (Act  V. )  a  puppet-booth  is  represented  on  the 
stage  and  a  play  is  acted. 

Act  V.    Scene  II.    Gifford  makes  no.  division  here. 

334,  3.  Yet  farder,  you  are  too  neere,  yet.  Face  is 
anxious  to  draw  his  master  from  the  door,  that  he  may  not  hear 
anything  of  what  may  be  passing  within. 

335)  ao-  Eye-bright  Gifford  conjectures  to  be  the  name 
of  "  a  sort  of  malt  liquor  ;  "  here  it  seems  more  probably  a  locality, 
perhaps  an  ale-house,  noted  as  a  place  of  resort. 

337,  46.    How  shall  I  beat  them  off,  etc.    Cf.  Plautus, 

Mostellaria,  III.   I.   1 0-14. 

When  Face  tells  his  master  that  the  house  is  infected,  Lovewit 
draws  back  from  the  door,  the  neighbors  standing  back  with  him. 
Face  withdraws  to  the  other  side  as  Surly  and  Mammon,  Kastril, 
and  the  Puritans  come  in  successively,  each  too  intent  for  the 
moment  to  notice  the  little  gathered  crowd. 

Act  V.    Scene    III.    Gifford  continues  Scene  I. 

339,  22.  What  signe  was't  at  ?  In  old  London,  shops, 
and  even  private  houses,  were  distinguished  by  pictured  signs,  owing 
to  the  general  illiteracy  of  the  lower  classes. 

341,  50.  Punque,  device,  a  blunder  of  Kastril's  for  point 
de  -vise  (cf.  Twelfth  Night,  II.  5.  175),  a  shortened  form  of  at 
point  de-vice,  equivalent  to  exactly,  precisely,  and  derived  from  the 
Old  French  a  point  de-vis. 


341,  55.  S.  Kather'nes,  a  royal  hospital  near  the  Tower. 
Cf.  Notes  to  East-ward  Hoe,  above,  p.  1 54. 

Act  V.  Scene  IV.  In  Gifford,  "Scene  II,  A  room  in  the 
same." 

345,  7.  Enter  Face.  Gifford  adds  "in  his  uniform,"  an 
unnecessary  suggestion,  as  Face  has  no  one  to  deceive  now  save 
Dapper,  and  Dapper  is  blindfold  while  Face  is  on  the  stage. 

347,  36.  Let  it  suck  but  once  a  weeke.  It  was 
a  popular  superstition  that  familiar  spirits  were  thus  nourished  by 
those  who  had  raised  them.  Cf.  Dekker,  The  Witch  of  Edmon- 
ton, II.   1. 

347,  41.  The  Wool-sack  and  the  Dagger  were  ordina- 
ries, or  eating-houses,  of  low  repute  frequently  alluded  to  for  their 
coarse  food.  Cf.  the  Dagger  pie  in  Satiro-AIastix.  Heaven  and 
Hell  were  two  mean  ale-houses,  according  to  Whalley,  abutting 
on  Westminster  Hall  and  still  standing  in  his  day. 

347,  44.     Mum-chance,  tray-trip,  God  make  you 

rich,  low  gambling  games  ;  gleeke  and  primero  being  games 
of  the  same  class  indulged  in  by  those  in  better  station  and  for 
higher  stakes. 

349,  76.  Ratcliffe,  a  place  in  the  parish  of  Stepney,  the  re- 
sort of  sailors  and  shipwrights. 

350,  89.  The  [Three~\  Pigeons,  an  inn  at  Brentford,  sub- 
sequently kept  by  John  Lowin,  the  noted  actor. 

352,  116.  VVard,  a  notorious  pirate.  Robert  Daborne 
wrote  a  play  on  his  exploits  called  The  Christian  turned  Turk,  or  the 
Li-ves  of  Ward  and  Dansiker,  1 612. 

353,  128.    You  looke,  you  are  surprised. 
353.  I29-    I  Sent  for  him,  a  characteristic  lie. 

Act  V.     Scene  V.     "  An  outer  Room  in  the  Same."     G. 

355>  5-  Three  for  fayling,  for  fear  of  failing,  a  common 
Elizabethan  idiom. 

356,  24.  The  [hangman  s]  cart,  at  the  tail  of  which  petty 
malefactors  were  whipped. 

362,  117.  Harry  Nicholas,  a  fanatic  of  Leyden,  the 
supposed  founder  of  the  notorious  sect,  "  The  Family  of  Love  ;  " 
perhaps  here  no  more  than  a  general  term  of  abuse. 


Kblfograp^t 


The  place  of  publication  is  London  unless  otherwise 
indicated. 

I.  TEXTS. 

This  list  includes  separate  editions,  adaptations,  the  issues  in  col- 
lective editions  of  Jonson,  and  ivith  the  plays  of  other  dramatists. 

A.   EASTWARD    HOE. 

1605,  4°-  Eastward  Hoe,  made  by  George  Chapman,  Ben 
Jonson  and  John  Marston  ...  for  William  Aspley.  (See  note, 
p.  167,  on  the  issues  of  this  quarto.) 

1685?  4C-  Cuckolds'  Haven,  or  an  Alderman  no  Conjurer, 
a  farce  (in  three  acts  in  prose,  altered  from  Eastward  Hoe)  by 
Nahum  Tate. 

1744,  iamo.  Eastward  Hoe.  Dodsley,  A  Select  Collection 
of  Old  Plays,  vol.  IV. 

IJK2,  40.  Eastward  Hoe,  or  the  Prentices,  an  altered  ver- 
sion. 

1756,  i2mo.  Eastward  Hoe,  reprinted  in  the  Appendix  of 
Memoirs  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Ben  Jonson,  by  W.  R. 
Chetwood,  Dublin. 

I775»  ^v0"  Old  City  Manners,  a  comedy  altered  from  the 
original  Eastward  Hoe,  by  Charlotte  Ramsey,  afterwards  Lennox. 

1780,  l2mo.    Eastward   Hoe,  Dodsley,  as  above,  vol.  IV. 

l8lO,  8vo.  Eastward  Hoe,  The  Ancient  British  Drama, 
vol.  II. 

1825,  Iimo.    Eastward  Hoe,  Dodsley,  as  above,  vol.  IV. 

1856,  8vo.  The  Works  of  John  Marston,  reprinted  from 
the  original  copies,  .  .  .  edited  by  J.  O.  Halliwell,  3  vols., 
vol.   III. 


315tbltograpl)£  393 

1874,  8vo.  The  Works  of  George  Chapman,  edited  by 
R.  H.  Shepherd,  3  vols.,  Plays,  vol.  I. 

1887,  ^vo-  The  Works  of  John  Marston,  edited  by  A.  H. 
Bullen,  3  vols.,  vol.  III. 


B.  THE    ALCHEMIST. 

l6l2,  40.  The  Alchemist,  T.  Snodham  for  W.  Burre,  .  . 
sold  by  J.  Stepneth. 

1616,  folio.  The  Workes  of  Ben  Jonson,  W.  Stansby,  sold 
by  R.  Meighan. 

1640,  folio.    The  Workes  of  Ben  Jonson,   R.  Bishop,  sold 
by  A.  Crooke,  2  vols.,  vol.  I. 
— ^[1680?],  i2mo.    The  Alchemist,  a  comedy  .    .   the  author 

B'J- 

1692,  folio.    The  Workes  of  Ben  Jonson,  to  which  is  added 

a  comedy  called  The  New  Inn. 

1709,  40.    The  Alchemist. 

1716,  8vo.    Works  of  Ben  Jonson,  6  vols. 

1729,  i2tno.    Ben  Jonson's  Plays,  Dublin,  2  vols. 

I732>  I2mo-  The  Three  Celebrated  Plays  of  that  ex- 
cellent Poet,  Ben  Jonson,  The  Fox,  .  the  Alchymist,  .  . 
and  the  Silent  Woman. 

1740  circa,  umo.  O  Rare  Ben  Johnson  !  or,  the  favourite 
and  celebrated  Comedies  of  that  excellent  Poet,  viz.,  The  Fox, 
the  Alchymist,  the  Silent  Woman,  and  Bartholomew  Fair. 

1756,  8vo.  The  Works  of  Ben  Jonson  collated  with  all  the 
former  editions  and  corrected  with  notes  critical  and  explanatory, 
by  P.  Whalley,  7  vols.,  vol.  III. 

1763,  i2mo.  The  Alchemist  with  alterations,  as  performed 
at  the  theatres.     (Garrick's  version.) 

1766,  i6mo.  Plays,  viz.  ■  I,  Volpone,  .  II,  the  Al- 
chemist,  .    III.,  Epicoene,  Glasgow. 

1771,  8vo.  The  Tobacconist,  a  comedy  of  two  acts  (in 
prose)  altered  from  (the  Alchemist  of)  Ben  Jonson  (by  F.  Gen- 
tleman ) . 

1774'  8yo-  The  Alchemist,  a  comedy  .  .  with  alterations, 
Edinburgh. 


\  \ 

394  \    yiBtbliograp^ 

I777>  I2rno-  VThm  Alchemist,  altered  from  Ben  Jonson, 
Bell's  British  Theati^,  v|k  XVII. 

1780,  i2mo.    ThT'Alchemist,  ibid.,  vol.  XVII. 

I79I>  i2mo.    The  Alchemist,  ibid.,  vol.  I. 

I797>  I2mo-    The  Alchemist,  ibid.,  vol.  I. 

1804,  8vo.  The  Alchemist,  British  Drama,  ea.  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  vol.  III. 

1 8l I,  8vo.  The  Dramatic  Works  of  Ben  Jonson  and 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  edited  by  G.  Colman,  (The  Jonson 
part  is  a  reprint  of  Whalley)  4  vols. 

l8l  I,  8vo.  The  Alchemist,  The  Modern  British-  Drama, 
3  vols,  vol.  III.  Comedies. 

l8lS)  i6mo.  The  Tobacconist,  a  farce  altered  from  Ben 
Jonson,  by  F.  Gentleman. 

1 8l 6,  8vo.  The  Works  of  Ben  Jonson  with  notes  crit- 
ical and  explanatory,  and  a  biographical  memoir  by  W.  Gifford. 
9  vols. 

l8l 8,  8vo.  The  Tobacconist,  a  farce,  The  New  English 
Drama,  vol.  XIII. 

1823,  8vo.    The  Tobacconist,  a  farce,  Boston. 

1824,  8vo.    The  Tobacconist,  The  London  Stage,  vol.  II. 
1836,  8vo.    Der  Alchemist  translated  into   German  by  W. 

Graf  von  Baudissin  in  his  Ben  Jonson  und  seine  Schule,  I. , 
Leipsig. 

1838,  8vo.  The  Works  of  Ben  Jonson  with  a  memoir  by 
Barry  Cornwall  (  B.  P.  Procter) . 

1846,  8vo.  The  Works  of  Ben  Jonson  as  above,  by  W. 
Gifford,  9  vols. 

1863,  8vo.    Ben  Jonson  traduit  par  E.  Lafond,  Paris. 

1870,  8vo.  The  Works  of  the  British  Dramatists,  by 
J.  S.  Keltie,  Edinburgh. 

1 87 1)  8vo.  The  Works  of  Ben  Jonson  with  notes  critical 
and  explanatory,  and  a  biographical  memoir  by  W.  Gifford,  with 
Introduction  and  Appendices  by  F.  Cunningham, ,9  vols. 

1875,  8vo.  The  Works  of  Ben  Jonson  .  .  by  W.  Gifford 
and  F.  Cunningham,  as  above,  9  vols. 

1885,  8vo.  Plays  and  Poems  of  Ben  Jonson  with  an  In- 
troduction by  H.  Morley. 


BtbliograpljW    /  395 

/    | 

1886,  i6mo.  The  Dramatic  Wor^s  or  Ben  Jonson  with 
an  Essay,  Biographical  and  Critical,  by  J-fA.  fcymonds. 

1892,  8vo.  The  Alchemist.  Best  BHzabethan  Plays,  edited 
by  W.  R.  Thayer,  Boston. 

1894,  8vo.  The  Alchemist.  Best  plays  of  Ben  Jonson  edited 
by  B.  Nicholson.    Mermaid  Series,  3  vols.,  vol.  III. 

1894,  8vo.  The  Works  of  the  British  Dramatists  by 
J.  S.  Keltie,  as  above,  New  York. 

II.    WORKS    BIOGRAPHICAL    AND    CRITICAL. 

Besides  monographs  and  essays  de-voted  specially  to  Eastward  Hoe 
and  The  Alchemist,  this  list  includes  such  general  works  on  the 
drama  and  on  the  authors,  Jonson,  Chapman,  and  Marston,  and 
their  ivorks  as  are  likely  to  pro-ve  useful  to  the  general  reader  or 
student  of  the  drama.  Specif c  references  are  furnished  ivhere  neces- 
sary. See  also  the  memoirs  and  critical  matter  prefixed  to  the 
Works  in  the  list  of  texts  abo-ve. 

1668.  An  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy,  byj.  Dryden.  Works 
of  Dryden,  ed.  Scott-Saintsbury,  1882-1888,  XV.  282  ff.  ;  The 
Alchemist,  pp.  331,  335,  346  ;  and  see  ibid.,  XVIII.  285  fF. 

1668.  A  Defence  of  an  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesy,  by 
J.  Dryden.  ibid.,  II.  290. 

1 69 1.  An  Account  of  the  English  Dramatic  Poets,  by 
G.  Langbaine,  pp.  57,  66,  281. 

1709.  The  Tatler,  by  R.  Steele,  Thursday,  May  12. 
Note  on  the  Alchemist.    The  British  Essayists,  ed.  1827,  I.  90. 

1749-  Remarks  on  the  three  plays  ok  Ben  Jonson,  viz. 
Volpone,  Epicoene,  and  the  Alchemist,  by  J.  Upton. 

1785.    Dramatic  Miscellanies,  Thomas  Davies,  vol.  II. 

1808.  Specimens  of  English  Dramatic  Poets,  by  C.  Lamb. 
Note  on  the  Alchemist,  ed.  1893,  I.   136. 

1808.  An  Examination  of  the  Charges  .  .  of  Ben  Jon- 
son's  Enmity  towards  Shakespeare,  O.  Gilchrist. 

l8l  I.  Das  altenglische  Theater,  von  L.  Tieck,  Krit- 
ische  Schriften,  ed.  1848  ;  Jonson,  I.  267  fF.,  Berlin. 


396  llBtbliograptip 

l8ll.  A  Letter  to  W.  Gifford  .  .  .  relating  to  Ben 
Jonson,  O.  Gilchrist. 

lSl7-  Dramaturgische  Vorlesungen,  XXXIII.,  A.  W. 
Schlegel,  Sammtliche  Werke,  ed.  1848,  Chapman,  VI.  331  ; 
Jonson,  333  fF. 

1 82 1.    Eastward  Hoe,  Notices  of  Old  English  Comedies  No. 

I,  by  J.  C,  Blackwood's  Magazine,  X.  127. 

1835.  Table  Talk,  S.  T.  Coleridge,  Jonson,  II.  pp.  245, 
299-300;   The  Alchemist,  pp.  120-121,  339. 

1836-38.      Literary  Remains,  of  S.  T.  Coleridge,  Jonson, 

II.  pp.  268-287  j  The  Alchemist,  I.  pp.  98-100  5   II.  pp.  279- 
280. 

1842.  Notes  of  Jonson' s  Conversations  with  Drummond, 
Shakespeare  Society's  Publications. 

1847.  Essay  on  the  Life  and  Writings  of  Ben  Jonson, 
by  A.  Schmidt,  Program,  Danzig.  See  also  Gesammelte  Ab- 
handlungen,  Berlin,  1889.    The  Alchemist,  pp.  36-43. 

1852.  Ben  Jonson,  by  L.  Herrig.  Archiv  fur  das  Studium 
der  neueren  Sprachen  und  Litteraturen,  X.  241.    Eberfeld. 

l857-  A  critical  Examination  of  the  poetic  genius  of 
Ben  Jonson,  Uellner,  Program,  Dusseldorf. 

1863.  Predecesseurs  et  Contemporains  de  Shakspeare, 
A.  Mezieres,  I.  ch.  9,  Paris. 

1863.  Histoire  de  la  Litterature  Anglaise,  H.  A. 
Taine,  Paris,  II.  1-69. 

1865.  Ben  Jonson,  eine  Studie,  H.  Von  Friesen.  Shake- 
speare Jahrbuch,  X.  127.    Berlin. 

1870.  Ben  Jonson  als  Lustspieldichter,  O.  Ulbrich,  Ar- 
chiv fur  das  Studium  der  neueren  Sprachen  und  Litteraturen, 
XLVI.  407. 

1874.  Chapman's  Dramatic  Works,  Cornhill  Magazine, 
XXX.  23  ff. 

1875-  A  History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature, 
A.  W.  Ward,  2  vols.  Eastward  Hoe,  II.  29-32  ;  Alchemist,  I. 
570-572. 

1875.  Essay  on  the  Poetical  and  Dramatic  Works  of 
George  Chapman,  A.  C.  Swinburne,  prefixed  to  The  Works  of 
George  Chapman,  Translations  and  Minor  Poems,  pp.  xxvii— xxix. 


Bibltograptn?  397 

1883.  The  Original  Hero  of  the  Comedy  of  Eastward 
Hoe,  C.  Edmonds,  The  Athensum,  October  13,  p.  463. 

1884.  Shakespeare  and  Montaigne,  J.  Feis,  Jonson,  pp. 
138—153  ;    Eastward  Hoe,  p.   196. 

1884.  Metrische  Untersuchungen  zu  Ben  Jonson,  W. 
Wilke,  Dissertation,  Halle. 

1886.  Ben  Jonson,  J.  A.  Symonds,  English  Worthies.  East- 
ward Hoe,  pp.  43-44;  The  Alchemist,  pp.  97-110. 

1887.  George  Chapman,  A.  H.  Bullen,  Dictionary  of 
National  Biography,  X.  47. 

1888.  Ben  Jonson,  A.  C.  Swinburne,  Nineteenth  Century, 
XXIII.  603,  693. 

1888.  John  Marston,  A.  C.  Swinburne,  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury, XXIV.  531.     Eastward  Hoe,  p.  538. 

1888.  Anwendung  der  Rhyme-Test  und  Double-Endings- 
Test  auf  BenJonson's  Dramen,  W.  Wilke,  Anglia,  X.  512. 
Halle. 

1889.  A  Study  of  Ben  Jonson,  A.  C.  Swinburne.  The 
Alchemist,  pp.  36-43. 

1891.  A  Biographical  Chronicle  of  the  English  Drama, 
F.  G.  Fleay.  Jonson,  I.  311-387,  II.  1-18;  Chapman,  I.  50- 
66;  Marston,  II.  68-82;  Eastward  Hoe,  I.  60-61  ;  Alchemist, 
I.  375-76. 

1892.  Ben  Jonson,  C.  H.  Herford,  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography,  XXX.   181. 

1893.  John  Marston,  A.  H.  Bullen,  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography,  XXXVI.  276. 

1894.  Ueber  BenJonson's  aeltere  Lustspiele,  H.  Hoff- 
schulte,  Program,  Muenster,  pp.  26-29. 

1895.  Quellen-studien  zu  den  Dramen  Ben  Jonson's, 
John  Marston's  und  Beaumont's  und  Fletcher's,  E.  Koeppel, 
Muenchener  Beitraege  zur  Romanischen  und  Englischen  Philolo- 
gie,  Erlangen  und  Leipsig.  Eastward  Hoe,  p.  31  ;  Alchemist, 
p.  12. 

1895.  Ben  [onson's  Theorie  des  Lustspiele,  P.  Aron- 
stein,  Anglia,  XVII.  466.    Halle. 

1898.  Studies  in  Jonson's  Comedy,  E.  Woodbridge,  Yale 
Studies  in  English,  New  York.    The  Alchemist,  pp.  60—64. 


398  Bibliography 

1800.  A  History  of  English  Dramatic  Literature, 
A.  W.  Ward.  Jonson,  II.  296-407  ;  Chapman,  II.  408-493  ; 
Marston,  472-493;  Eastward  Hoe,  441-444;  The  Alchemist, 
367-369. 

1 001.  Newly  discovered  Documents  of  the  Elizabethan 
and  Jacobean  Periods,  by  B.  Dobell,  Athenaeum,  March  23, 
30,  April  6,  and  13,  Letters  of  Chapman  and  Jonson. 

1903.  8vo.  The  Alchemist.  Edited  by  C.  M.  Hathaway, 
Jr.,  Ph.D.      (Yale  Studies  in  English,  XVII.)      New  York. 


<&Io££arp 


acop,  crested. 

adalantado,  a  lord  deputy  or 
president  of  a  county. 

admirall,  the  chief  ship  of  a 
fleet. 

adrop,  the  matter  out  of  which 
mercury  is  extracted  for  the 
philosopher's  stone  ;  also  the 
stone  itself. 

alembick,  the  head  of  the  dis- 
tilling apparatus  in  which  the 
distilled  material  was  held. 

aludels,  subliming  pots  with- 
out bottoms,  fitted  into  each 
other  without  luting. 

amuse,  amaze. 

ancome,  also  uncome,  a  felon. 

anenst,  against,  next  to. 

angel,  a  gold  coin  worth  about 
ten  shillings. 

angrie  boys,  roisterers. 

aqua  fortis,  weak,  impure 
vitriol. 

aqua  regis,  a  mixture  of  nitric 
and  hydrochloric  acid  capable 
of  dissolving  gold. 

aqua  vitae,  old  name  for  al- 
cohol. 

argaile,  argol,  unrefined  tartar. 

aspired,  gained,  acquired. 

athanor,  a  digesting  furnace 
made  to  retain  heat. 


aurum  potabile,  said  to  be 
gold  reduced  without  corrosive 
into  a  blood-red  gum  me  or 
honey-like  substance,  drink- 
able. 

azoch,  mercury. 

azot,  azote,  nitrogen. 

babioun,  an  ape,  baboon. 

backside,  back  yard. 

baiard,  a  soldier,  man  of  milita- 
ry bearing ;  also  commonly  used 
of  a  blind,  sorry  horse,  and 
may  have  this  meaning  here. 

balloon,  a  game  in  which  an 
inflated  leather  ball  was  driven 
to  and  fro  by  a  flat  piece  of 
wood  attached  to  the  arm. 

balneum,  a  bath  or  heating  of 
a  vessel  in  hot  water  or  sand. 

band,  starched  collar. 

bandog,  a  dog  tied  up  because 
of  his  fierceness,  hence  a 
watch-dog,  mastiff  or  blood- 
hound. 

barb,  to  clip  coin. 

barbel,  a  fresh-water  fish  with 
appendages  at  its  mouth. 

bavin,  a  bundle  of  brushwood, 
fascine. 

bird,  «.  a  fly  or  familiar  spirit ; 
v.  to  pilfer. 


400 


(£lo0sfari? 


bodkin,  a  long  ornamental  pin 
used  by  women  to  fasten  the 
hair. 

bolted,  driven  out. 

bolts-head,  a  long-necked 
conical  vessel. 

bona  roba,  a  wench,  usually 
in  an  opprobrious  sense. 

bony-bell  (bonnibel),  a  fair 
lass. 

botcher,  a  mender  or  repairer. 

brach,  a  bitch. 

Br  adamant,  a  famous  amazon 
possessed  of  an  irresistible  spear. 
See  Ariosto,   Orlando  Furioso. 

braine,  a  wit,  intriguer. 

Brainford,  Brentford. 

Brownist,  a  follower  of  the 
Puritan  sect  founded  about 
1 58 1  by  Robert  Brown. 

buckall,  buccal,  a  mouth- 
piece. 

buffin,  a  variety  of  coarse  cloth. 

bllfo,  red  tincture. 

buz,  a  word  used  in  incantation. 

by-and-bye,  immediately. 

Calce,  calces,  products  of  com- 
bustion, especially  of  metals, 
supposed  by  alchemists  to  be 
converted  into  a  species  of 
earth. 

Caliver,  a  kind  of  light  musket 
or  harquebus,  the  lightest  port- 
able firearm  excepting  the  pis- 
tol. 

calvered,  cut  in  slices  while 
alive. 


can,  know,  be  acquainted  with. 

Candor,  honor,  fair  reputation. 

canting,  cheating. 

ceration,  softening  a  hard 
substance. 

cheat-bread,  fine  wheaten 
bread. 

chiaus,  an  envoy  or  special 
agent  of  the  Sultan.  Such 
an  agent  had,  in  1609,  swin- 
dled the  Turkish  and  the  Per- 
sian merchants  of  London  out 
of  some  ^4000  ;  hence  the 
word  came  to  mean  a  scoun- 
drel or  cheat. 

chibrit,  mercury. 

chippings,  broken  bread. 

chough,  originally  a  jack- 
daw, or  crow,  a  chatterer, 
prater. 

chrysopceia,  gold-making. 

chrysosperme,  elixir. 

chymia,  xv^a  *°r  XVP*la, 
alchemy. 

cibation,  feeding  of  matter 
with  fresh  substance  to  supply 
evaporation. 

cinoper,  cinnabar,  red  sul- 
phid  of  mercury. 

citronize,  to  become  yellow. 

clip,  to  embrace,  clip  close, 
fit  snugly. 

cocatrice,  cockatrice,  a  pros- 
titute. 

COCkrel,  cockerel,  a  young 
cock. 

COhobation,  redistillation. 

collect,  recollect. 


&lo0$an? 


401 


Colliar,  blackguard, 
conscience,  knowledge,  sense. 
COp,  a  crest  ;   aCOp,  crested. 
Copy,  copiousness,  plenty. 
COrasive,  corrosive. 
COrtine,  curtain. 

countenance,  credit. 

Counter,  compter,  prison  of  a 
mayor's  court. 

counters,  card-money. 

couple,  a  brace  or  leash  for 
holding  two  hounds  together. 

court-hand,  a  style  of  writ- 
ing in  use  in  the  law  courts  in 
the  sixteenth  century. 

COvetise,  covetousness. 

COyl,  hubbub,  tumult. 

crinckle,  waver,  shrink  from 
a  purpose. 

crosse-let,  crucible. 

cucurbite,  a  gourd-shaped  ves- 
sel for  distilling. 

Cullion,  scoundrel. 

cunning-man,  man  of  skill, 
alchemist. 

deal,  play  the  pander. 
digestion,   the  preparation  of 

a  substance  by  gentle  heat. 
dildo,  an  obscene  word  used  in 

ballad  refrains, 
dilling,  darling. 
ding,  to  beat. 
discipline,    Puritan    cant    for 

reformation  of  the  church. 
dishonest,  f .  to  dishonor. 
dog-bolt,   a   blunt-headed    ar- 


dole,  a  small  portion  given  in 

charity. 
donzel,  a  squire  or  page. 
Dousabel    {douce   et   belle),  a 

common  name  among  writers 

of  pastorals. 
doxie,  a  beggar's  trull  or  wench, 
dub,  to  knight ;   also  to  beat, 
dulcify,    free    from     corrosive 

admixture. 
durance,  a  stout  durable  cloth 

of  wool. 

earne,  to  desire  strongly,  long 
for. 

emp 'ricks,  empirics,  experi- 
mentalists. 

enforste,  forced. 

engines,  enginer,  schemes, 
schemer. 

Ephemerides,  astronomical 
almanac  ;  (plural  used  as  sin- 
gular.) 

est  rich,  ostrich. 

expect,  await. 

faithfull,  easy  of  faith,  credu- 
lous. 

fall,  a  ruff  or  band  which  was 
turned  back  on  the  shoulders. 

familiar,  an  attendant  spirit 
or  demon. 

farder,  farther. 

feize,  feeze,  to  threaten, 
frighten  away. 

felt,  a  hat. 

felt  re,  to  filter. 

fermentation,  the   mutation 


402 


<£lo00an? 


of  a  substance  into  a  ferment 
after  destruction  of  its  primary 
qualities. 

festination,  hurrying,  haste. 

fetch,  gull,  get  the  better  of. 

figent,  fidgety,  restless. 

fire-drake,  an  alchemist's  as- 
sistant. 

firk,  n.  a  trick,  dodge,  or  sub- 
terfuge, •v.  to  trick,  to  gull  ; 
also  to  urge,  to  drive,  force. 

fixation,   a   non-volatile   state. 

flat-cap,  a  citizen,  from  that 
article  of  his  dress. 

flitter-mouse,  a  bat. 

flock-bed,  a  mattress. 

fly,  a  familiar  spirit,  demon. 

foreright,  favorable,  in  the 
line  of  one's  course. 

fough,  faugh. 

foyst,  a  cheat,  rogue. 

foysting  -  hound,  an  ill- 
smelling  hound. 

frail,  a  basket. 

frame,  plot,  plan. 

froward,  perverse,  refractory. 

frume'ty,  frumenty,  wheat 
boiled  in  milk. 

fllCUS,  cosmetic. 

fume,  smoke. 

fyste,  "•  a  scoundrel,  trickster; 
•v.  •vessijier. 

gallantry,      gallants,     young 

bloods. 
garb,  fashion,  demeanor. 
get-peny,  a  profitable  play. 
ging,  gang. 


girdlestead,  the  waist. 

gleeke,  an  early  French  game 
at  cards  supposed  to  be  derived 
in  title  from  the  German  word 
gluck,  hazard  or  chance.  It 
is  played  by  three  persons  who 
hold  twelve  cards  each  and  draw 
from  the  remainder  which  is 
called  the  stock.  The  players 
bid  successively  for  the  stock 
and  the  successful  bidder  pays 
for  his  cards  in  accordance 
with  the  value  of  the  cards 
held  by  his  opponents.  Cot- 
ton, The  Complete  Gamester, 
1680,  p.  64ft". 

god-boye,  a  by-form  of  good- 
bye. 

gods  gift,  literal  meaning  of 
Dorothee. 

gold-end-man,  a  buyer  of 
broken  gold  and  silver. 

goldsmith,  usurer,  see  notes 
to  Alchemist. 

Goodfellow,  a  religious  sect  of 
dissenting  principles. 

godwit,  a  marsh  bird. 

goose-turd,  a  shade  of  green, 
merde  a"  oie. 

gOSSamOUr,  cobweb  down. 

gossip,  a  familiar  friend,  chum; 
also  as  originally  a  sponsor. 

gresCO,  apparently  a  game  at 
cards,  corresponding  to  the 
popular  Venetian  game  still 
played      by     children      called 

cresco,    or     cresco     in 
mano. 


<£>lo0sfarp 


403 


gripes  egge,  a  vessel  shaped 
like  the  egg  of  a  vulture. 

groat,  silver  coin,  value  4d. 

groome-porter,  "  an  officer 
of  the  royal  household,  whose 
business  it  is  to  see  the  king's 
lodging  furnished  ;  .  .  .  and 
also  to  provide  cards  and  dice 
.  .  .  and  to  decide  disputes 
arising  at  cards,  dice,  bowling, 
etc."  Cunningham. 

guards,  facings,  trimmings. 

gudgeon,  one  that  will  bite  at 
any  bait,  a  credulous  person. 

gull,  to  fool,  cheat. 

habergions,    coats  of    mail ; 

here  guards,  soldiers. 
hansell,   to    use  for    the    first 

time. 
happy,  rich. 
hay,  a  net  to  catch  rabbits. 
hazzard,  a  game  at  dice  ;  also 

the  court  in  tennis  into  which 

the  ball  is  served. 
hearken  out,  to  get  to  hear 

of,  to  search  out. 
helme,  a  retort. 
hoigh,    Dutch    hoy,  unwieldy 

lighter. 
hot,  prevalent. 
house,  in  astrology  the  twelfth 

part  of  the  zodiac. 
huisher,  old  form  of  usher. 
hum,  a  word  used  in   incanta- 
tion. 

idiot,  layman,  private  person. 


importune,  importunate. 
inhibition,  a  kind  of  bath  in 

alchemy,  a  restraining  process 

of  the  tenth  stage. 
inceration,  softening   to   the 

consistency  of  moist  wax. 
inginer,  see  enginer. 
intelligencer,  an  informer. 

jovy,  jovial. 

kemia,  alchemy  ?  perhaps  some 
sort  of  vessel  ? 

kibes,  chilblains. 

kibrit,  sulphur. 

knave,  boy,  servant. 

Knipper-doling,  an  Ana- 
baptist who  raised  a  revolt  in 
Miinster  in  I  533. 

knot,  the  red-breasted  sand- 
piper. 

kuss,  kiss. 

lac  virginis,  mercurial  wa- 
ter. 

lady-bird,  a  term  of  endear- 
ment. 

lato,  latten,  a  species  of  auri- 
chalc,  a  mixed  metal  of  yel- 
low color  resembling  brass. 

launder,  here  wash  in  aqua 
fortis. 

lay  for,  lie  in  wait  for. 

legge,  n.  a  bow  ;  -v.  to  make  a, 
to  bow. 

lembek,  limbeck,  a  still. 

lent,  slow. 

lenter,  gentler,  milder. 


404 


d5los#ari? 


licket,  a  shred,  a  rag. 

litharge,  fused  yellow  protoxide 
of  lead,  obtained  in  separating 
silver  from  lead. 

loose,  a  shot,  a  venture  in 
archery. 

Luna,  silver. 

lunarie,  moonwort,  prized  by 
alchemists. 

lungs,  an  assistant  in  alche- 
my. 

lute,  to  smear  a  retort  with 
clay  to  resist  heat. 

macerate,  to  steep. 

maistrie,  the  magisterium  or 
philosopher's  stone. 

malleation,  malleability. 

mammet,  a  puppet. 

mandragora,  a  powerful  so- 
porific. 

marchesite,  marcasite,  a  form 
of  iron  pyrites. 

mark,  a  coin  worth  13s.  4d. 

marie,  marvel. 

mauther,  an  awkward,  rustic 
woman. 

Diaw,  otherwise  rumstich,  a 
Dutch  game  at  cards  played 
by  any  number  of  players  and 
with  a  piquet  pack  of  thirty- 
six  cards. 

menstrue,  a  solvent,  men- 
struum. 

merds,  excrement. 

mere,  pure. 

metaposcopy,  fortune-telling 
by  reading  the  countenance. 


Millenary,  a  name  applied  to 
the  supporters  of  a  certain 
Puritan  petition  addressed  to 
King  James  in  1603. 

modern,  common,  trivial. 

moon,  Luna,  silver. 

motion,  idea,  proposition. 

mum-chance,  a  low  gambling 
game  with  dice. 

myrobolane,  a  sweetmeat, 
conserve,  dried  plums  from  the 
Indies. 

natural,  fool  ;  naturals, 
natural  parts,  abilities. 

nicerye,  daintiness,  affecta- 
tion. 

noble,  a  coin  worth  6s.  8d. 

numbred,  accounted  for,  a 
Biblical  word  misused. 

oppone,  oppose. 

ordinary,  eating  house. 

outrecuidance,  Fr.  presump- 
tion, arrogance. 

Ormus,  a  commercial  centre,  of 
great  wealth,  on  an  island  at 
the  entrance  to  the  Gulf  of 
Persia. 

overshot,  intoxicated. 

packing,  collusion,  trick- 
ery. 

pageant,  Lord  Mayor's  Show. 

pamphysick,  appertaining  to 
all  nature. 

panarchick,  sovereign,  all- 
ruling. 


6los#arv 


405 


Paracelsian,   a  follower   of 

Paracelsus,    hence    an    alche- 
mist. 
parcell-guilt,     partly     gilt,    a 

cheap  imitation  of  gold. 
par'lous,     perilous,     forward, 

shrewd, 
pavin,    pavane,     a     stately 

dance,  derived  from  Pavia. 
peat,  a  spoiled,  self-willed  girl. 
peeterman,     fisherman,     one 

who  follows  the  occupation  of 

St.  Peter, 
pellicane,  an  alembic  designed 

for  continued  distillation. 
pellitorie,  a  small  bushy  plant 

growing  on  walls. 
phlegma,    water    of    distilla- 
tion. 
piece   of  eight,   the  Spanish 

peso  duro  bearing  the  numeral 

8. 
pipkin,    perhaps   a    variety    of 

headdress, 
pire,  pier, 
pistolet,    a    pistole,     Spanish 

gold  coin  ;  also  a  pistol. 
pitch,  to  stretch,  as  a  net. 
plot,  plan. 
point  device,  a.  precise,  nice; 

ad-v.  exactlv,  particularly. 
points,    tagged    laces    used    to 

hold  up  the  breeches. 
pomander,  pomme  d'ambre,  a 

ball  or  small  box  of  perfumes 

carried  in  the  pocket  or  worn 

as    a    bracelet   or    about    the 

neck. 


porcpisce,  a  porpoise. 
portague,  a  gold  coin  worth 

post-and-pair,  a  game  at 
cards  in  which  the  players  vie 
(bet)  on  the  excellence  of 
their  hands. 

potate,  liquefied. 

poulder-cornes,  granulated 
gunpowder. 

poynado,  a  caudle  made  of 
bread,  currants,  sack  and  eggs. 

presently,  at  once. 

presse,  conscription. 

prest,  ready. 

prevent,  anticipate. 

primero,  a  game  at  cards  of 
Spanish  or  Italian  origin,  so 
called  because  he  wins  who 
holds  the  prime  or  primero,  a 
sequence  of  the  best  cards. 
Four  cards  are  dealt  to  each 
player  and  various  cards  are 
assigned  a  fixed  number  of 
points.  The  best  chance  is 
the  flush  (four  cards  of  a 
kind),  the  next  is  the  fifty- 
and-five.  This  game  was 
long  both  fashionable  and 
popular. 

projection,  the  twelfth  and 
last  process  in  alchemv. 

prophane,  vain,  wicked,  a 
Puritan  word. 

puckfist,  puff-ball  ;  in  abuse, 
vile  fungus. 

puffing,  puffin,  didapper,  a 
water-fowl,  a  fool. 


406 


<ftlo00ari? 


purchase,  stolen  goods. 

pure  Linnen,  unmixed  with 
baser  material. 

pus,  puss. 

putrifaction,  the  fifth  process 
in  alchemy,  by  which  impuri- 
ties were  removed  from  the 
compound  by  the  application 
of  moist  heat. 

quailes,  light  women.  Cf. 
1'roi/us   and    Cressida,    V.    I. 

quiblin,  petty  device  to  de- 
ceive. 

quirk,  a  quibble,  retort. 

quodling,  a  quill-driver,  or 
lawyer's  clerk.  Gifford.  Per- 
haps codling,  an  unripe  apple. 

quoiffe,  coif. 

rack,  a  metal  utensil. 

Ratcliffe,  in  the  parish  of 
Stepney,  the  resort  of  sailors 
and  shipwrights. 

realga,  realgar,  a  compound 
of  arsenic  and  sulphur. 

reclaim,  reformation. 

region,  the  upper  air. 

remora,  barnacle,  supposed  to 
delay  ships. 

respect,  regard,  consider. 

reverberating,  circulation 
of  flame  and  deflection  down- 
ward in  a  specially  constructed 
furnace. 

reverent,  reverend. 

rheum,  a  cold. 


rifle,  to  raffle,  play  at  games  of 
chance.  * 

robustiously,  violently. 

Roman  wash,  a  lotion  to 
lighten  the  hair. 

ruffin,  ruffian. 

rugge,  a  coarse  nappy  mate- 
rial, drugget. 

saffron-gilt,  a  cheap  imita- 
tion of  gold  in  base  metal, 
parcel-gilt  or  latten. 

salachme,  query,  achamech, 
dross  of  silver  ? 

scirvy,  scurvy,  contemptible, 
offensive. 

sconce,  a  fort ;  also  the  head. 

sericon,  black  tincture. 

sess,  tax. 

set,  to  lay  a  wager  ;  also  the  plait 
of  a  ruff. 

shark,  to  live  by  one's  wits. 

shot-clog,  one  that  pays  the 
reckoning  for  the  whole  com- 
pany at  a  tavern. 

sickness,  the,  the  plague. 

single-money,  small  change. 

'slight,  by  God's  light. 

slops,  wide  trousers,  usually 
worn  by  sailors. 

Sol,  gold. 

solution,  the  second  stage  or 
alchemical  process,  in  which 
the  material  already  obtained 
is  submitted  to  the  agency  of 
water. 

sort,  n.  flock,  troop;  -v.  agrees. 

souse,  the  ear. 


$los#ar)? 


407 


Spagirica,  spagiric  art  is  chem- 
istry as  taught  by  Paracelsus  or 
his  followers. 

Spittle,  spital,  hospital. 

spur-ryall,  a  gold  coin  issued 
by  King  James  and  worth  15  s. 
in  1606. 

Stammel,  red  linsey-woolsey. 

Statelich,  Dutch  staatlyk, 
stately. 

State,  estate,  property. 

States,  persons  of  distinction. 

Still,  ever,  always. 

stinkard,  a  common  fellow. 

Stoupe,  n.  a  bow  or  bending 
mode  of  carriage,  -v.  to  swoop 
down  like  a  hawk  on  her 
prey. 

Sublimation,  conversion  into 
vapor  by  heat  and  reconversion 
into  a  solid  state  by  cold. 

sunne,  Sol,  gold. 

SUScitabilitie,  excitability. 

SUSter,  sister. 

Swabber,  scullion,  base  fel- 
low. 

taberer,  a  drummer, 
taffata-sarsnet,  a  fine   and 

delicate  fabric  of  silk. 
take  up,  rebuke,  taunt. 
talek,  talke,  talc. 
tall,  brave,  able. 
testone,    a  silver    coin    worth 

about  is.  4-1. 
threave,  a  flock,  drove. 
thrums,  the  useless,   discarded 

ends  of  the  weaver's  warp. 


tincture,  color,  quality. 
tit,  a  child,  a  fool, 
titillation,  tickles. 
Tom,  a  Tom-fool,  idiot. 
toward,  promising,  likely, 
toy,  trick,  plan. 
train,  device,  scheme. 

transferred,  transported. 

tray  -  trip,  a  game  with 
draughts. 

triackle,  treacle. 

trig,  an  affected  fellow,  a  cox- 
comb. 

trow,  to  think,  to  suppose. 

trunk,  any  tube,  hence  a  speak- 
ing tube  ;  also  a  pea-shooter. 

trunks,   round,  wide    trousers. 

tuff-taffetie,  a  taffeta  woven 
with  a  pile  like  velvet. 

tup,  to  couple. 

tutie,  zinc  collected  from  the 
chimneys  of  furnaces. 

twierpipe,  the  pipe  through 
which  the  air  enters  a  blast 
furnace. 

unbelieved,  incredible. 
Upsee  dutch,  in  the  Dutch 
manner. 

vagarie,  a  journey. 
vail,  vayle,  gratuity,  tip. 
valure,  valor. 
varthingall,  farthingale. 
venturers,   adventurers,    mer- 
chants. 
Venus,  copper. 
VerdugO,  name  of  noble  Span- 


408 


<Slo$san? 


ish    family,    Gifford ;    also    a 

hangman. 
vie,  to  back  one's  cards  against 

an  opponent's. 
visited,    infected     with     the 


wanion,  with  a,  plague  take 
it,  bad  luck  to  you. 

•wedlock,  a  wife. 

well-parted,  of  good  abili- 
ties. 

whether,  whither. 


whit-meate,  white  meat,  tit- 
bit, delicate  morsel. 

wire-drawn,  prolix,  subtle. 

wish  to,  recommend  to  one. 

woad,  a  plant  used  for  blue 
dye. 

•wood,  a  stock  of  material, 
lumber. 

yew,  ewe. 

younker,  a  well-born  youth. 

zemich,  auripigment. 


fit- 

Ai 
H03 


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